Villa Incognito
by Elizabeth Cicero
Summary: Mort Rainey's life has continued in lame retrospect, and when he attempts to make a break with writer's block, has a chance encounter with fate. While Roxanne helps him finds himself, will she also bring the past back from the dead?
1. Roxanne

**Villa Incognito**

'_Expensive mushroom shop. Ten letters…down.'_

If I knew the answer to a question like this I wouldn't be sitting on the couch at 3 am, trying to use up the last of the firewood for both me and the dog. If I had the ability to fill in this blank I wouldn't need the half eaten peanut butter sandwich, the Seinfeld reruns, or this robe. I would be upstairs in bed, eyes shut, with my arm draped around the one person who ever gave a fuck about what I did, and how I was, and what happened to me. I would be there, not here.

'_What kind of shop sells mushrooms specially?'_

Sometimes I wonder how it all happened, how I was able to get away with it and move on with my life. Does anyone still know what I did, do they even care? It's not as if I could have helped doing it, my mind all warped and trapped like a fish in a bowl, unable to venture out alone. Everything just sort of happened to me, covered me in the blackness, before I could ask for a reprieve. And it was the girl who came along amidst all the bullshit and lost hope that opened my eyes and made me see that I still had a chance. It was her, somehow who changed me, brought me back to myself.

"Mort?"

"Yeah babe, I'm coming."

'_Aha. You Times' bastards. Ten letters down, number 34…Apothecary.' _

Funny how sometimes all it takes is a while longer, just a bit more time to focus, in order to solve a problem, in order to free yourself from the blank spaces. I've found my answer finally, and it's not ten letters down or eight across, it's a lot easier than that. It began with a house…

* * *

**Chapter 1: Roxanne**

_**(8 months earlier)**_

It was noon on the lake. Riley was spread out, paws to hind legs across the end of the bed, just covering my feet for warmth, despite the fact that it was about 80 degrees. Short breathing and nose twitching, this is our unified signal for waking up, late risers, late fallers indeed. I sat up in bed, stretching and cracking my jaw like it might help for once. It never does. Riley's chocolate ears were draped and wiggling as he greeted me tongue to hand. "Thanks Rye, as if I didn't stink enough." I managed to get my fingers halfway through the sick, tangled mess that is my hair. God knows when I took a shower last, three…four nights ago? Days weren't worth counting anymore; I was too busy to worry about bathing. "Come on, let's go eat." We ran downstairs together, ritual. It's our exercise routine. I hadn't gone shopping in almost a week, and knew there would be nothing to eat, but that hardly ever fazes me from digging through the cupboards, fridge, and pantry. "Hmmm…chicken noodle soup…and…Oreos?" 

Riley stood mockingly beside me, his tail whipping against my leg, tongue dripping in hunger, and those sad eyes. He's such a baby, acts like one of those starving children on TV. _For ten dollars a month…you can help feed the dumbass dog. _I just filled his bowl up with dry pellets, wincing at the smell with laughter. "That's what you get for being born with four legs." Riley ate, while I rummaged through the freezer, and dug out the last bit of cookie dough ice cream. _And this is what I get, for having two legs, and no self control. _Spoonful by spoonful I indulged myself, lunch.

I went back up to the loft, settled into my old wooden chair, and flipped open the laptop. My demons all seem to come in the form of microchips and battery powered electronics. Substantial writing had failed me yesterday and the day before that, and of course, the day before that. But now, it was time to focus. I had to write at least a chapter before getting up from the chair, no matter what. Riley was relaxing under the desk at my feet, chin resting on my toes as I felt my fingers begin striking keys. I know my eyebrows were knotted, they always are during moments of utter fixation, knuckles fierce with movement, and lips mouthing the words I was creating, the images I was developing with plans. It was working today, my mind, my imagination, cooperating well. _I can't believe it's happening for once._ The chapter was coming together, the plot thickening, the characters getting closer, and closer, and closer…

_Toby was fully aware of the heave that her breasts were capable of in this light, the straining desperation for something more than conversation. He felt it just the same, and shuffled his feet at hers, hands numb with doubt, and lips dry with regret. But he moved in, brushing his hand against the warmth of Liz's cheek, drawing her nearer to him, nearer to his desire. Liz stood motionless beyond repair, praying for what was coming and altogether fighting it. One part of her wanted to run away from the danger she had been warned about and the other part wanted him to…_

"_**Kill me romantically, fill my soul with vomit  
then ask me for a piece of gum.  
Bitter and dumb, you're my sugarplum  
you're awful, I love you..."**_

The blaring, rhythmic pounding startled both of us as it traveled through the open air outside of the cabin and drained in through the windows of the loft. I darted my eyes from the screen to the window annoyed, rolling, and exhaling with hands through my hair. I guess you could say I was upset. No…I was pissed, and when I'm pissed…I tend to get loud. "Well…that's one way to write it!" Riley jumped from under the desk and paced in circles at the noise, I just let my fingers float less than an inch above the keys again, trying, hoping it would come back. But instead all I was able to think about or hear was—

"_**You suck so passionately  
You're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature**_

_**Finger-bangin' my heart.  
You call me up drunk, does the fun ever start?  
You're hideous...and sexy!"**_

"Oh Jesus, this isn't happening. Not today!" I don't know if it was the music so much as it was the words spewing out through the wind, the ones that reminded me that I was still alone. The words that said… "Haha fucker, you still aren't getting laid. Your crotch still hurts." I threw my hands up, I knew the sick lyrical voice was right and so I leaned back, contemplating that straining down below. Yeah, I'm still a guy. I still need a little help now and again with certain aspects of pleasure. I guess that's why I'm so mean…my hand can only do so much. And now I was 

getting off topic, losing the focus I had worked so hard to keep all morning, my story was slipping through the cracks. All because someone had decided to throw a fiesta on the lake. The isolated lake, the one that has a gas station, a few kayaks, a cabin or two. Someone was screwing with me badly. _'God, no way.'_

_**  
"Must be the sign on my head, it says  
'Oh love me dead!' Love me dead! Wow! Uh!"**_

"The old Hayden place?" Curious as I can be at times, I got up and went to the window, and through the thickness of trees surrounding my own property, in the direction of the once abandoned house, I heard it loud and clear. It was echoing throughout the foliage between property lines. This wasn't going to work, my windows had every right to be open without disturbance from some little punks. "Riley, let's go." Rushing down the stairs again, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, tugged at the hormonal tightness of my jeans and pulled on my old boots, taking off behind Rye seconds later. We walked the faded, unused trail behind the cabin towards the old Hayden estate, a path we hardly ever took. It wasn't such a bad idea to get out anyway, I sipped at the Bud and tossed a stick out a distance for Riley to fetch, continuously bringing it back until we had made it into the clearing. There was only a short distance to the front porch, where with three swift knocks on the door, not an answer was returned. Obviously the owners were too deaf now to realize someone on their porch. _Probably a bunch of drunk college kids. I didn't even think this place was for rent._

Turning away to walk back home, I saw Riley take off around the side of the worn house and out of sight. "Shit, dammit Riley!" _See what I mean…dumbass._ I called out and stepped down from the porch, pacing around the side to follow him, further into the underbrush, and I noticed the music softening as it changed to something more familiar. _The Stones…okay so maybe these kids have some taste._ Riley was nowhere to be seen, he had disappeared off behind the house, where I then saw a brick patio jetting out through the trees. Coming around the opposite corner, the view was grossly different than what I had expected to find. There was a full deck, Jacuzzi, grille, and dozens of patio chairs, one of which was now dually occupied. From a distance I could make out Riley perched up on the chair, being lovingly stroked and cooed. _Oh you pain in the ass._ It wasn't really a person I guess, more of what I assumed to be a mirage, for the simple fact that people, women…don't look like that on this lake. A pair of cutoff Abercrombie's snug at her hips, with a string black bikini top holding all modesty over her honeyed skin. I have to say, if I wasn't in pain before, my pants were really starting to bother me now. _Fuck._ Because the girl's back was turned to me, I was still as unknown to her as anything, although she did seem pretty curious about Riley's origins. I walked over, slowly, keeping my eyes tagged to her lower back. As already established, I'm a man. I have every right. A tattoo of some sort started coming into clearer view the closer I got. She had her brown hair strung up into a loose bun, and nails painted dark red, causing strange vibrations to roll in and out of my head with every step. _Never mind, that's not my head._

"Aww, come here boy, let me see if you have a tag." She was sweet talking the little shit, and as I stepped around the side of the spa to get a final glance at the ink, '_Aerosmith…figures' _I chuckled inside, finally speaking up behind her. "He's mine." When she turned around quickly, I saw her squinting through tinted aviators (good choice) as her hands finished stroking at Riley's neck. "Oh, hi. I was just going to check for a tag…"

"Thanks, he's a real pain in the ass. Riley, get over here!" Stupid dog, can't keep it in his pants. _Like pet…like…oh never mind._ I remember being quick to reply, I was nervous, I'm always nervous. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine, I love dogs." At this point I could only concentrate on the heat, the sweltering, middle of -who the hell knows where- heat. I hate this lake in summer. Well…_almost._ "You can have this one if you want. He's free."

"Nothing's free." "True. Alright then, he's a buck fifty." Somehow she was laughing, amused by me. Hell, I was just glad to be making a comical genius out of myself for once. I guess I was also tapping my shoes on the patio bricks, trying to think of something cool to say next, but I was really only able to think about how long it had been since I'd seen someone who looked like her, dressed like she was. It had been too long, that's for damn sure. Doctors always talk about a heart stopping, just fucking quitting without any warning, or feeling to go on. I could have sworn I was headed down that road. "So is this the part where we exchange names?" Oh yeah…strawberry lips, I knew almost immediately. There's quite a bit about women I'm not good with, but I know what strawberry lips look like. "I guess it could be." I'm such a smooth operator sometimes.

"Mine is Roxanne Hayden."

"Roxanne? Like the song…"

"Yeah, because you're like the 6 millionth person to point that out." The grin was genuine enough, I'll give her that. And the name, I loved the name instantly. Song about a prostitute or not. _Don't laugh Mort, idiot. Don't laugh._ "Well it is a good song."

"It happens to be a damn good name too." Oh yeah, this was her weak spot, I hit the tender part. _Among others…_

"I believe you. And _Hayden_…? Your family owns the house, right?"

"Sort of, I own it now. Inheritance." Inheritance, she owns it now, was planning on staying? Oh yeah, I was intrigued. "My grandmother left it to me, I guess she figured I was the only one that wouldn't try to sell the place."

"Oh, cool. I mean…not cool that your grandmother died or whatever…just…" I have a tendency to make awkward situations twice as awkward by opening my big mouth. Point proven. Of course, once I start, it's sort of difficult to put the lid back on. Sort of like Pringles. _Oh man...now I want some Pringles…_ "I just mean, it's cool that she left it to you."

"Yeah, I'm glad. It will give me something to do. So, what's yours?"

"My what?"

"Oops, I mean, your name."

Okay…here we go. Now, I like to do this thing where I pause momentarily before throwing my name into a conversation. See, when you write murder mysteries for a living, own a house in the middle of nowhere, and you've been accused of killing a handful of people and a dog…it's not completely _'bizarre'_ to want to hesitate out of respect for your well being. I have to know that the person who's asking for my name isn't writing a column in the Times. But…this one seemed harmless enough. "Mort Rainey."

"Rainey…?" Yes, she was mocking me. But it was fair game, I'm a moron, I welcome anyone to take a stab. "Like…the writer?" I was laughing, she was beyond the definition of adorable at that, Amy was never that 

adorable. _Ah shit. No Amy. No more._ "Yeah, but he's not half as cool of a guy as that song _your_ named after." A short grin was all I got for that.

"It's a shame about him, you know what I heard?" She pretended to be whispering, _cute_. It was cute. And when she leaned in, and lifted her sunglasses from her face, that's when I saw them. Her eyes. Transfixed is not quite the appropriate word here, maybe, charmed? They were brown eyes yes; perfect auburn does, but the hint, the flicker of green behind them…_Dear God. _I'm pretty sure that's all I could think about. I was trying to imagine one of those big boxes of Crayola crayons, like the 64 pack. _Shit she's still talking, what was she saying…she heard something about Mort Rainey, that's right. A rumor._

"He's gay." I could have easily been hurt by the statement, or humored, or even slightly put off, but I couldn't even think straight. I was in some kind of a green haven of light and dark, that golden hue her shoulders and collarbone were slowly accumulating, those breasts tied tightly inside of the black fabric, I tried…I did. "Oh...well, you shouldn't believe rumors Mrs. Hayden." I did it on purpose, of course I did. I knew she wasn't married, how could someone with a body that _revealed, _that tattoo…no way, she wasn't married. And when I looked back into her eyes that second time, I remember seeing this childish spark, I guess you could say. Then it hit me…_Sea Green_. That's the color, _Sea Green_…thank you Crayola.

"It's just Miss. I'm not married, see." She held out her hand, slender, beautiful fingers, but of course, there was no rock. _When I'm good…I am good._

"I'm sorry, my bad."

"Don't be sorry…" The way she spoke the words, glaring back at me, those lips curled up with slight humor. God, it nearly killed me. One thing I can't easily handle is a pretty pair of lips. I've been deceived by too many. So instead, I just tugged at Riley's collar, thinking that leaving would be best at this moment. Before things…went farther than I could _handle_. "Well, we should let you get back to…uh…well, yeah." Yep, I know what you're thinking; Shakespeare couldn't have gotten himself out of an awkward situation better. Shut up.

"It was nice to meet you…Mr. _Hemmingway_." Okay, now someone tell me that wasn't dripping with every ounce of flirtation she coined away in high school.

"Nice to meet you, _Miss_ Roxanne Hayden. _Not _the song." I never said I didn't have a flare for adolescent romanticism myself….shut up. A flick of wrists in shaking, a turn on my heels and I was taking off right behind Riley, back towards the path. I sensed that she might have been watching, but you never really know. A dozen things were spinning in my brain, between that perfect name of hers, Roxanne. Such a roll off the tongue, such a character name, maybe the next one I'll use. _'Which damn, I still have to write sometime before I pass out.'_

I returned home to silence, tunes stopped, wind blowing again. It soon appeared to me though, how much I missed the music already.

* * *

So, that's Mort's orginal POV. Next up is Roxanne's!


	2. Mort

**Roxanne's **POV

* * *

"_I want to kiss every bit of you…all day…all night…"_

That's the last thing he said to me before my eyes fell back. I can still feel his breath against my neck, his arm lazily draped across my stomach, our toes meeting at the cool end of the bed. It was perfect, as it always was. Well, almost always. Now I'm lying here, the snow is pattering on the window, the clock says it's 3:02 AM, and even as I stretch my naked body out over the shivering space beside me, I know where he is. I know what he's doing. I know why he can't sleep.

"_I want to kiss every bit of you…"_

Interesting how lines like that, things said can interpret the meaning of life, the inevitable. I can see this now, even the first time I met him I knew and I saw. He wasn't just another neighbor in the woods, he wasn't looking for a cup of sugar, or coming to give me a hard time about the music…_or maybe he was._ I felt it, I knew it going to happen, that my little novelist was here to stay. And stay he did, every hour he could spare in fact, until I was every bit as much his as I was the world's. Until his kisses were the only thing I could feel on my skin at night. Until…

"_Elaine…he's a male bimbo. He's a mimbo!"_

Season five. Episode 76. The Stall. From what I can hear at least, he's been watching for a while, he's been caught up in it. I can picture him from up here in bed, crossword in hand, that worn out old robe (I love that robe…), the nibbled PB sandwich, Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer, the socks with the hole in the toe propped up on the coffee table. And Riley, watching it all happen. I love that man, and his holey socks. Smiling to myself, I sit up, still listening to the laughing paid audience of the sitcom, and call out to him.

"Mort?"

His voice is muffled, but romantic. "Yeah babe, I'm coming!"

Funny how it happens, when you're not looking, when you're doing everything but for yourself. Someone stumbles in, and ruins everything. Ruins it with kisses…all day…and all night. It happened quick, like a shot of lightning in a summer storm, and there he was. It all started with a tag-less dog…

**

* * *

****Chapter 2: Mort**

"It's fine, a little beat up, but I can fix it."

"Are you sure you don't need me to call anyone to help out?"

"Oh come on Syd, I thought you had more faith in me than that."

"I have every faith. But aren't you lonely yet?"

"Ask me again in a week. Besides…I've got a lot of work to do, and I'm sure there are some neighbors around…_somewhere."_

"Alright, well call me if you need anything ok? The city's only an hour drive away."

"Yeah I will."

"Roxy?"

"What?"

"Find yourself a man, will ya?" If there's one thing my sister's good at, it's reminding me of what she has that I don't. She's got it all in fact, the penthouse in the city, Executive husband, two perfect children, a golden retriever. Everything that I've told myself for years would come my way when I most deserved it, when I got to that point, which apparently at 27, I'm still not even close to. "Sure, let me just find one with teeth first."

"Oh it can't be that bad up there…it's upstate New York for god's sake, not Kentucky."

"You're right. I'll keep my eyes peeled."

"Good. Call me later, ok."

"I will." _Not._ Sydney worries too much, she needs to focus on baking and linear math homework, not her single sister in the woods. Besides, I am perfectly capable of handling whatever comes my way out here. _Whatever…comes…my…way._ "Love you honey."

"Love you too. Give Jake and Emily kisses for me."

"You bet." And with that, the other line clicked, my cell phone snapped shut, and I was right back where I started. _Zinfandel. _The wine of single women across the world, pool wine, rock star wine. My mother always told me that in order to ensure the proper amount of wine in your glass, the amount that will medicate your wounds, you should pour until your forget why you even opened the bottle. Well, what mom forgot to mention was that you should stop at the rim if you still haven't forgotten, and just drink from the bottle itself. I guess she knew what she was talking about. _Pouring…pouring…poured. Capped off. Perfect. _I set the glass down, adjusted my bikini top according to comfort, and walked through the back door onto the deck, bottle in hand. The sun was out and at just the right temperature to ensure the some sort of enjoyment, the pool had been drained, cleaned and refilled before I got here, and the radio was already blaring in hindrance for me. So walking to my chair, I danced and sang along like I was eighteen again. "Love me cancerously…like a salt sore soaked in the sea!" _I never said I was good. _

From where I sat I was alone, no other houses in site, no noise (other than my own), no traffic, or smoke, or uptown men in fitted Armani suits. Just me and my wine. Although driving in a few nights ago I did happen to notice a few smaller cabins and houses along the path, lights gleaming out from trees, not too far off from here. So at least I have neighbors. My house though, the house my grandfather built with his own hands, stands three stories tall reaching for the clouds, countless windows and doors, white shutters against blue paneling. Built strong, safe, guarded for him and his family. I was so proud to have it in my name, it was something I had always hoped for and I think my Gram always knew. For the good part of twenty years I was the only one of her grandchildren who really gave much care to visiting, summers, winter vacation, I would be here. We would bake cookies, and she would teach me how to sew, and garden, and we'd watch old movies together, listen to records, 

and dance in the moonlight with my grandpa laughing and snapping photos on his old Rally. There were times when I imagined that my grandparents were my real mom and dad, that James and Annie had never existed to me. It's terrible I know, but my parents were never really parents to me and they still aren't for that matter. They paid the bills, bought my expensive clothes, purchased lavish homes, cars, anything a child could want or need to live well. But I never learned a single thing from them - other than my mother's wino philosophy - that really mattered. My dad never taught me to swing a bat, or ride a bike, and my mom never took me to the park, or read me fairytales. If it wasn't my grandparents doing these things, it was my older sister Sydney, taking over. Which is why she still worries today.

"Ah…god, this feels so much better than Eighty Ninth Street." My face fell down to the headrest on the lounge chair, my back and legs exposed to the beating sun, Daisy Dukes and the little black strings of my suit…which were now… _coming undone_. I tried to focus in on the lyrics better, the ones I was supposed to be judging this week, a new band, a new tune, a new article that had to be written. _Ludo…what kind of name is that? Oh well, cool beat. _My job is simple, study the world of sex, men, and rock and roll. Then write. I get paid more money than Britney Spears, get to hang out with whatever band I want, go to Hollywood premieres, and keep everything they give me, the booze, the clothes, music, movies, drugs on occasion. Of which I quickly dispose of, but still fascinating that I receive such gifts. I am the New York City _It Chick, _the one P. Diddy calls when he wants a good review on his club, the one Mick Jagger called when he wanted his legal issues kept professional, I'm the one Johnny Depp gets in contact with when he wants to make sure an article can be written without photographs of his kids being used. I'm _that girl. _Call me Miss Rolling Stone, groupie #1, or Roxy Love, but they all amount to one thing. My job. And I do _Roxy Love_ it!

The music suddenly began to fade out, with an approaching song in the short distance, and for this I have to admit, I was grateful. Not that I mind some of the newer bands, but my grandpa raised me on the good stuff, the songs and musicians that had a purpose in the world. _Aerosmith, Van Halen, The Stones, Bob Dylan_. The music my dad listens to in the privacy of his office, the tunes my mom won't admit got her in trouble at my age, and the ones that I danced to in the moonlight. I am not my parents, and I thank god for that. I quickly noticed the song changing to one I could appreciate more, and apparently even Keith Richards has a problem with getting satisfaction. _Yeah, I try to be funny. _

The sun was covering me and wearing me down surely, and as I drifted away into sleep, I was no sooner gone than I was drug back into the world. I felt a slobbery wetness run the length of my dangling arm, saliva mixing with my oil, and when I opened my eyes and peered through the darkness of my glasses, I saw just about the cutest face possible. Well…besides Gerard Butler.

"Hey there boy!" I sat up, petting the dog, a chocolate lab or something close to it from what I could tell. He was either lost or just not used to finding someone occupying his chair, since the house had been abandoned for some time. "Yeah, your cute aren't you. Awww…" He licked me, jumped up into the chair excitedly, and so I continued to give him the attention he seemed to need. It occurred to me that he must have gotten lose, and so I tried to find his tag buried beneath the short fur of his neck. "Come here boy, let me see if you have a tag." He didn't, but I continued playing with him, stroking his face, until he looked up at something he must have recognized, "He's mine," and I heard a voice. Okay I lie, it wasn't just _a voice. _It was really the sound of my entire universe shifting under my feet, my world halting beautifully, strangely, unexpectedly. It was the end of the old Roxy, I just didn't know it at the time. _Curse unexplainable feelings. _

"Oh, hi. I was just going to check for a tag…" I was trying really hard to play it cool, to chill out and just be normal. But it was so hard. I didn't just stand to find a neighbor; I stood up and was now looking into the eyes of this other worldly force, a magnet pulling my ass closer and closer without any second thoughts. It was crazy to say the least.

"Thanks, he's a real pain in the ass. Riley, get over here!" He seemed upset by the dog, but still keeping simplicity about him, calm. This wasn't an Armani suit, this was something else. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine, I love dogs." No lie, I adore dogs. I had even planned to get one after I got settled up here, of course, if this gorgeous guy wanted to share…_what was the dog's name? _Reilly, yeah if he wanted to share Reilly, then I'm sure some sort of arrangement could be made. _My god, I'm a sick woman. "_You can have this one if you want. He's free."

"Nothing's free." I replied quickly with some fashion of a smile I guess, whatever I could muster past the laughter I was containing. "True. Alright then, he's a buck fifty." Okay, I didn't have to contain it anymore, I could let it run free like the falls of Niagara. He laughed too, sweetly, sexily he laughed. His mouth, his mouth was so gentle looking, I could have kissed it, blamed it on the bottle at my feet. Instead I spoke, "so is this the part where we exchange names," and then puckered my lips together to ensure the last bit of my gloss. Strawberry, my favorite. "I guess it could be." _Is he trying to be smooth or something? How cute is that…_

"Mine is Roxanne Hayden."

"Roxanne? Like the song…"

"Yeah, because you're like the 6 millionth person to point that out." Okay so that was a little mean, I shouldn't have jumped his case, but I've been getting the same joke thrown at me since 84'. It tends to get old. And yes, I did tell Sting all about it once. He laughed too. "Well it is a good song." Good, he has taste in music at least.

"It happens to be a damn good name too." I'll admit, it can be a weak place in my heart, like nails on a chalkboard. _Of course what I wouldn't give to have my nails all over his…oh god, I need help. _

"I believe you. And _Hayden_…? Your family owns the house, right?"

"Sort of, I own it now. Inheritance." And god, am I glad I took the claim on the mortgage now. Thank you Gram…thank you…_thank you_…_Jesus, I'm staring too much._ "My grandmother left it to me, I guess she figured I was the only one that wouldn't try to sell the place."

"Oh, cool. I mean…not cool that your grandmother died or whatever…just…" Seemed instantly he was as awkward a person as me, not having a firm grasp on simple minded conversation. And yet, something just felt so familiar about him, like I'd seen him a hundred times before. His dusty, tangled locks, _totally wicked_. The rustic, almost homeless bass guitarist look, the glasses to make himself at least appear smart if he wasn't. He's so cool that he probably doesn't even know it. And that…in my line of work…is the coolest. "I just mean, it's cool that she left it to you."

"Yeah, I'm glad. It will give me something to do. So, what's yours?" _See what I mean…awkward as a flamingo in Alaska._

"My what?"

"Oops, I mean, your name."

I looked at him as sweetly as I thought I could, waiting, watching as he paused, played with the hair at the back of his neck, the pocket of his jeans, avoiding my eyes. And then he finally responded. "Mort Rainey." And just like that, I was hooked. Handsome, charming, dog lover (well sort of), one of my favorite, Time's bestselling authors. _You've got to be kidding me…this is what I find in the middle of nowhere?_

"Rainey…? Like…the writer?" I was laughing at myself because he was laughing at me, and it felt good, but I was excited and I didn't give a damn if he read me like the books he writes. I wanted him to know that I know the tragic endings to every one of his creations. I really, _really_ wanted him to know. I think he got the hint. "Yeah, but he's not half as cool of a guy as that song _your_ named after." A short grin was all I gave.

"It's a shame about him, you know what I heard?" I gestured towards him in rumor formation, tilting my glasses down my nose and smirking. "He's gay."

"Oh...well, you shouldn't believe rumors Mrs. Hayden." Mrs.…_Mrs.…_oh yeah, he pulled that one of his back pocket. Touché' Mr. Rainey. But two can play your little game, and us girls always win. Better watch out for the bull young man…you'll get the horns. "It's just Miss. I'm not married, see." I held out my hand, laying emphasis on the lack of rock, no sparkling gem to take care of me, buy me the house in suburbia, or get me pregnant. I loved the smile it put on his face, I loved it too much. _Oh yeah…when I'm good…I , am, good._

"I'm sorry, my bad." He's so _not_ sorry. And neither am I.

"Don't be sorry…"

I noticed him start to get nervous, as if he was backing out of the conversation to save his balls or something. It was funny to say the least, I love watching brilliant men squirm for their livelihood. Someone should write a book. "Well, we should let you get back to…uh…well, yeah." Writers…so smart on the page…so lazy with words in real life. Trust me, I know therefore I am.

"It was nice to meet you…Mr. _Hemmingway_." Oh yeah, I'm flirting buddy. Now, do me a favor and send one right back. "Nice to meet you, _Miss_ Roxanne Hayden. _Not _the song." He's good, _real_ good. And just like that, watching Mort Rainey walk his incompetently adorable dog back home, I was fixed. God had taken pity on me for once, and I was satisfied. I began to wonder why it was that he seemed so lonely, so unsettled. I guess the world's been tough on both of us, such a shame. And by the time he was out of sight, I felt the need to do something I never follow through with unless under an emergency situation.

I went inside to call my sister.


	3. Two Spoonfuls

****

Chapter 3: Two Spoonfuls

**(One week later)**

Somehow I was sleeping, completely lost in rest for the first time in months. The haze surrounding me felt good, it felt right, and as the dark shadows of my dreams were replaced by an oceanic green, I realized what was happening to me, I understood. The subconscious I thrived on had taken over, and forced me into the sweetness of that green I was distracted by, those eyes, that ink. All of it calming, reassuring, right. And just as I was preparing to dive into the depths and consume my mind with every possible beauty that lay beneath, I came back to life and my eyes flew open at the shrillness of a thousand swooning guns. Reilly's head propped up at the noise too, and I looked at him, hoping for some clarity, of which there was none. Only more pounding and growling from outside of the house, strangely met by the heavy flood of rain. Of course I got up, threw on my jacket, ran downstairs and tugged by boots on. Reilly stayed at the door when I left.

Outside there was little to see past the darkness, only the anxious banging of metal and mud could be heard in some distance. The rain was slick, painful against my face as I walked through the porch and onto the gravel drive. The lake was near to overflowing, with the ground a swamp in most places, but I continued jogging slowly through it, searching for whatever had woken me. It didn't take long of course, as I rounded the corner of the shed, past my Jeep I could make out headlights in the far trees along the road, and so I continued on. Music was trickling from the old truck, a color I couldn't make out, but it was most definitely ancient. A voice, I heard a voice shouting, a hand hitting the dashboard, and a leg slipping out from the open door. "Damn! Piece of…" Yes, I laughed at the voice as I approached from behind the truck bed. Its wheels were rummaging through inches of mud, begging to move, but getting nowhere. Trying to wipe the rain from my eyes enough to see the victim, I can't say I was entirely surprised, but I was intrigued. That I most certainly was. There she stood ladies and gentleman, hands pounding on the hood of that old red Chevy, hair drenched in the crystals of summer rain, face worn and torn. "I can't believe this is happening to me!" _God she was a sight. _

"I can!" I know, it was a dick thing to say, but I knew it would get me noticed and it did. She looked up, eyes brazen and bones shivering and just smiled. It was the smile your family members give you when they haven't seen you in years, or the smile you see on the faces of people at an airport terminal. And that made me feel better than anything else. "Looks like you're stuck."

"Wow, so observant of you Mr. Rainey. Yes…I am stuck, and wet…and pissed!" I watched her, amused as she kicked the tire of the truck, her arms flailing. Like a child who just lost all television privileges for a week. I figured I should at least attempt to better her situation, "I gotta tell you, there's no way you're moving this thing tonight. The mud's just going to keep getting thicker till morning. Trust me on this one." Seemed to be a wrong answer, because as soon as I said it, her eyes got angrier and her fist flew towards the air in rage. So I just continued watching and waiting for the right moment, the exact place in conversation to make a suggestion. I let the rain cover every inch of me, and I waited. "God, what am going to do now? It's too…I can't…"

Cue my brilliant idea.

"Hey, hey…" I said, moving closer to place a hand on her shoulder as she looked back distraught. "My place is just right here, why don't you come in and dry off till it stops. I'll make you some coffee…" That would do it, I knew it would. Women under stress and pain can't deny coffee, no matter how much they should. She grinned, relaxed a bit and finally nodded. "Good, come on let's go." Tilting my head in the direction of the house, I helped her get the keys out of the ignition, and walk through the mud and then up the slippery gravel to the porch. Reilly met her with enthusiasm, remembering her almost instantly, and she pet him in return as we went inside. The house was a 

great deal warmer than it had been leaving, the rain being so cold, and I took her jacket from her, realizing just how soaked the two of us were. _Drying off was hardly the need._ Without trying to look, I saw the lace of her green bra beneath the thin white tee, and again I fell into the sea. It was happening faster this time, uncontrollable, unstoppable, but she smiled and I came back up for air. "Maybe…um…" The hesitation in my voice felt like an eternity, but eventually I realized what I wanted to say. "Can I offer you something dry to wear? I've probably got some old t-shirts or something?" It must have been the right thing to say that time, because she smiled.

I smiled, yes of course I did. The gestures he was making were too good not to. For all of his treacherous writing, Mort Rainey was proving to be quite the gentleman, quite the hero. "That would be great, thank you." Before I could possibly think to object and walk home to my own closet, he had taken off up the stairs, calling out as he went, "Just make yourself comfortable!" _Don't mind if I do. _Of course instead, I was drawn to the house itself, my new surroundings. It was calm, humble, and the word that jetted out most in my mind since meeting Mort, _quaint._ Yes, quaint suited him. A writer, holed up in a comfortable cabin in the woods, alone with a dog. Quaint was right. And in all of the _quaintness _stood the large built in shelves of books, reaching as high up as the pillared ceiling. Covered, filled and stacked with every book a novelist could need, from the Thompson collection, to Kerouac, Robbins, and even some Jane Austen. _Now that's not something you see in every man's house. _It made me smile even more. His couch, by the time I reached it, was inviting, warm, enrapturing. I sunk inside of the soft cushions, my legs hanging out before me, still trembling. But it was then that Mort returned, grinning and holding out a clean, but worn shirt and boxers. Inside I was completely amused, and completely dissolved. "I hope this is ok, just some old stuff." Of course it was ok, it was Mort Rainey's boxers, what could be more ok with me? _Besides the ones he's wearing. _"It's great thanks. Do you have a bathroom…I can…"

"Oh yeah, just right past the staircase there in the back."

"Ok." I walked toward the bathroom, but I could still feel his eyes on me.

Yes I was watching her, the green shadow beneath the pinned white, I'm a lost cause. "Hey Roxanne?"

"Yeah?"

"How do you take your coffee?" The look in his eyes could have warmed over the Arctic; I was knee deep in my own melted flesh. But I recoiled, smirked and responded. "Milk and um, two spoonfuls of sugar."

"Perfect. Come on Rye…" I tugged at his collar, smiled once to her and walked into the kitchen, thinking, imagining something odd. Something…_perfect. _

* * *

It took a while to rip the wet jeans off, and the shirt had revealed itself to me as quite obviously the most un- modest thing to date, and I knew he had seen it. That green bra of mine, the only one I owned of that color, and for some reason it managed to make its way onto my body today. _I've never been a very lucky person._ It didn't take long to get dressed in the clothes Mort had given me, a pair of soft flannel boxers, blue. And the shirt, which I had 

to admit he may never see again, was a vintage Van Halen baseball tee from the 82' tour. It was more than fitting, especially for me. Which apparently meant, it was for him too? _Curious._ I tried to tease my hair a bit from the long tangles it had grown into, my curls barely even visible, and it worked well enough. My makeup on the other hand, left me puzzled. How could he have see me like this and not laughed? Or was he laughing now? _Oh god…_my mascara had conveniently smudged just under my eyes, but left grey streaks along my cheeks from the harsh rain, and I had to admit, with the wardrobe choice acquired, the tasseled hair and smoky eyes, I was beginning to look more and more like Steven Tyler by the second. I laughed it off, hung my wet clothes over the shower door, and took one lasting glance before returning to the living room.

"Okay Mort Rainey…closet Van Halen fan, writer _extraordinaire_…let's see those skeletons!"

* * *

_Milk…two spoonfuls of sugar…milk…two spoonfuls. Perfect. _It's been a while since I've made a cup of coffee for a woman, and even longer since I've had one in my house, let alone my boxers, but it felt right almost instantly. I stirred nervously, stirred…_stirred_ until the sugar was gone, hiding deep within the cinnamon color of her coffee. Mine was black, bland, boring. I guess that says something about me. There wasn't much to go on for food; I had gone shopping but only enough for a boring divorcee and his fat dog. Not enough to feed a woman too, but I managed to find some cookies, I guess girls still like cookies?

Reilly stood waiting for me to move into the living room, my own personal shadow. And as I walked back out, two cups of coffee in my hand and cookies under my arm, our paths crossed, _and oh what a stunning path it was._ "Need some help?" Yes, I need you to leave before I lose my mind, and say all of the wrong things and stare at your eyes, and breasts, and legs…_too late._ "Milk and sugar." I handed her the cup that was hers and walked around to take a seat on the couch with Reilly jumping into my lap and Roxanne sitting on the opposite end. I had already lit the fireplace and turned some music on low, not to set a mood or anything, that's not my style. Just simply to make use of my home for once. The shirt I had given her, although about two sizes too big for, looked just right. And the boxers, well hey, it's my house, I'm entitled to have a little fun. "Thank you for doing all of this Mort. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it, me and Rye hardly ever get company." Yeah, she did smile at that surprisingly, as if I was dropping hints that she was catching in a net. _But was I?_ "It is pretty lonely up here; I haven't seen anyone in a week almost." I was trying so hard not to stare at his socks, little holes peeking out of the toes as they were propped up on the coffee table. I really tried, but it made me giggle too much inside to quit. "Don't worry; there aren't many people around here worth seeing anyway."

* * *

"No?"

"Not really, the lake is pretty quiet, just strange people." I couldn't tell what he was trying to get at, if he was making a point or just being a social outcast on the prowl, but I kept listening to him. Mostly because his voice was like a sleepy fall breeze, and I couldn't ignore it to save myself. "You're the only normal person I've met up here in eight years. Well, I hope your normal at least?" I assured him I was, taking another sip of the coffee, strong but good, and then finishing. "Of course I guess it all depends on your definition of normal."

_

* * *

__My definition_…she wants _my_ definition. "I'll have to let you know on that one." Oh I just bet he will what a guy. "Fair enough." And the silence came after this, but it came gracefully, subtly over the crackling flames and shallow breathing of the dog settled between us. I could hear Mort's body shifted, almost nervously from the other end, and I began to twist the long end of my hair on my finger, thinking, or at least appearing to. When the quiet was finally broken it was a mutual action, with our questions diving out simultaneously, quickly, anxiously.

* * *

"Have you ever been married?" and "So, what is that you do?" A collision, a near wreck followed by a strain of laughter from each of us. I waited for him to go on with his inquiry, but as the perfect gentleman, he insisted on my turn. And so hesitantly I asked him, "Were you married before?" And of course my heart stopped beating in anticipation. It was a completely useless question, or so I thought. "Yes, yes I was married for…oh…nine years."

"Wow, nine years really?"

"Yeah, seems like forever when I say it out, but I guess it was. I got divorced a few years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh no…trust me, you're not allowed to be sorry in my case." I didn't understand him, what he meant by that, of course I was sorry for him. "Why not?" She asked the question, and I was more than prepared to give her the full story, but for now I just thought that less would be more. Just for now. "Well, my wife Amy, she…had an affair. This guy Ted, a total moron. So see, it was a good thing in the end. Don't feel sorry for me." He was cheated on, right under his nose probably, his wife. And I understood now, I saw through everything to who he was in that moment, I saw the Mort Rainey that writes the damaged love and murder epics, I saw. He was a broken man, but not entirely destroyed, and this I could see too. Despite the answer to the question, he was still smiling, still happy enough to bring a stranger into his house, still warm. And I think it may have been the combination of all of that which caused me to speak my mind, without thinking first. "She's an idiot." My jaw dropped immediately, and his eyes widened from over his coffee cup, but instead of being angry, they were humored, shocked with relief. "Oh…I didn't mean to…I'm sorry, I just…"

* * *

I watched her over the rim of my mug, seeing the fear in her eyes at what she had admitted, but knowing that she had admitted it for me too. "You apologize too much." I chuckled, took another sip of coffee and then set down the cup. Reilly sensed my leg was numb and moved to the floor next to the couch instead. And now there was a space between us, like a great abyss of unsettled curiosity, something that needed to be filled. I did what any guy would do when given the opportunity, I moved in closer. Not shockingly close, just nearer to her, trying to relax her mind about me perhaps, show her I wasn't some cold, mean divorced guy. And much to my surprise, it worked, and her body slowly inched its way to mine, our shoulders meeting somewhere in the middle. "Don't apologize anymore, it's not worth it. Now…it's my turn."

* * *

At first I didn't understand him, and then I recalled the distant question he had asked, and accepted the notion. "Ok, what's was question…what do I do?" "Yeah, what is it you do?" I could go the long route with this, give him all of the juicy details, explain to him the people I had listed on my cell phone, the events I had planned to attend this month, the Carmen Electra article I typed up just yesterday on my desk, I could go that way with the answer. But I didn't, I chose to simplify my life down to an art form, instead of a franchise. "I'm a journalist." His head turned almost immediately, completely drawn in now, I could feel it. "Really?" "Yeah, I do a lot of political pieces…" _Technically true. _"Sports pieces…" _Somewhat yes. _"Entertainment too." _Yeah…you could say that. I guess the Santana expose counted. _Impression was filling his eyes, he was wound up in my answer, and I knew exactly what was coming next. "Who do you write for?"

"Oh, um…" _No one big really, you might not even know of it. _"Rolling Stone?"

"You're kidding, Rolling Stone Magazine? That's quite impressive there Roxanne." It hadn't dawned on him yet, and maybe it wouldn't, maybe he didn't read it enough, or at all to know. Maybe he would just never…"Wait a minute." _Never mind, here it comes. _"Roxanne…Roxy…_Love_? That's you isn't, Roxy Love?" _Oh he's good. _"Yeah…" I replied back shyly, not sure how he would take it, a respected novelist to my paycheck by paycheck corner in a New York City office, scribbling away at homework on previous night's downtown brothels. "That's me, unfortunately."

_

* * *

__What the hell's she talking about, unfortunately? This_ girl has made a killing on winning the hearts of overpaid actors and rehabilitated ex-rock stars. She's New York's queen. I saw the damaged spirit in her eyes and was drawn to fix it, to reassure her of herself. "I love your stuff, so it's not unfortunate to me."

"It isn't?"

"No way, it's great really. And I don't just say that to every journalist. In fact I can't stand them."

"Good news for me, huh?"

"But…" I laughed, seeing how nervous she was getting and handed her one of the chocolate chip cookies. "I'm going to make one exception in my life for you." Good, she's smiling, the way I like her most. And she replied quickly after, trying to blow past the compliment I think. "Good cookies." Yes, they are Roxanne. _Yes they are._ "And, good music. You have taste Mort Rainey, I'll give you that." "Do I?"

"Yes, you do." The answer was typical enough for my taste, but I could tell she wasn't just saying it, she was announcing it in her mind. And surprisingly enough, I was doing the same for her. The Aerosmith tattoo kept leaking into my brain, that imprinted black stain on her golden skin, soft, perfect, everything. It burned a whole in me, that and the black bikini top, and the green bra, and the sea green crayon I had absently placed on my desk a few days ago. _Sea green…_interrupted by, "I didn't take you for a Dave Matthews fan."

"No, well what did you take me for?"

"Hmm…maybe, Barry Manilow?" Oh she was smooth alright, that coy grin following the insult just made it better. I knew she wasn't serious enough to have thought that, especially wearing a thoroughly used Van Halen tee from my drawer. I knew exactly what she was thinking, and knew she wouldn't say it. "Barry Manilow huh? You know I thought _Roxy Love_ would know a person better than that."

"Yeah well, _Roxy Love_ is out of the office. It's just Roxanne Hayden, take it or leave it."

"Hmm tough call."

"Oh I bet it is."

"I tell you what…" I sat up higher to peer down into her eyes with my head cockily tilted, "Roxanne Hayden can stay, if she answers something for me."

* * *

He was better than he thought, and looking up into his eyes, a rich haven of promises, I went along with it. "And what might that be Mr. Rainey?"

"She has to tell me the story, the_ whole _story, behind that Aerosmith tattoo."

_I knew he saw that thing. I just knew it. _

* * *

Hours passed like minutes, minutes like lightning. I explained the tattoo to him, every bit of the story in fact. From the part about me becoming an intern at the Magazine in my senior year of high school, to the tour I was given to write about on my first assignment, Nine Lives 98'. I told him how I had gotten in backstage to interview the band, meet and greet with my heroes, and had ultimately been given the opportunity that every girl dreams of. Getting to tour with the band! That's right, I did. His jaw dropped at this part, probably for the sense that being a man himself, he imagined me as a groupie, trailing behind them every night. _I'll never tell. _But that's where the ink came from, per the request of Steven himself at a tattoo parlor one drunken night in Wisconsin. And, it's been there ever since. "You've got to be kidding me?" No Mort, I'm not I said with a smile. He believed me. And it continued on like that for hours, stories back and forth, confessions, fears, likes, dislikes, anything we could think of to pass the time, while I "supposedly" waited for the rain to stop. Even though I knew an hour into my visit it had slowed enough to get back home. But Mort was too incredible to move away from.

Roxanne was amazing, too amazing. She told me everything, all the little things I had wondered about, and been interested in knowing, right down to her shoe size I think. She's doesn't like salt water taffy, loves the sound of scratchy old records, reads at least a book a week, bites her nails when she's nervous, hates roses, but loves lilies, and best of all, has a secret addiction to Seinfeld reruns. She knows my hidden shame, and through all of this, she isn't a city girl at heart, she isn't a fan of BMW's, and she doesn't have a single reason to not want to stay here.

_She's just Roxanne._

* * *

He found Reilly in the woods and took him in, hates sushi, but loves sweet and sour chicken, does crossword puzzles at 3 AM, thinks the Pussycat Dolls are overrated, cracks his jaw when he's nervous, can't stand rap music (neither can I), hates to buy roses, and would much rather pick wildflowers for a girl. Not to mention the fact that he watches Seinfeld late at night when he can't sleep. Everything about him and more is beyond my expectations, he isn't an executive, he isn't a Manhattan stud, and he doesn't drive a suburban.

_He's just Mort._

* * *

Somehow, some way during the last bit of evening darkness, the two of us had managed to get more comfortable, and I had no idea how. When my eyes opened up to the brightness peering in from the high window, it was a different warmth I felt, one I didn't know could exist in my world again, but it consumed me. I peered down to see soft, brown hair against my chest, and then noticed her arm wrapped snuggly along my stomach. We barely fit on the couch together now, but it didn't matter to me in the least. All I could smell was the faintness of strawberry, that scent, that taste that I assumed was her. My arm was snaked firmly around her back and waist to hold her to me, and I noticed myself holding her closer now, pulling her in as far as I could. _Oh I'm in deep shit. _I haven't been this close to any woman in years; I haven't needed or wanted to be until now. Until…

"Mort?" _Ah god that voice, it kills me. _"Yeah?" I replied, not knowing clearly what was about to happen. "Are you awake?" It was cute, the drunkenness of her sleep playing tricks on her, the way she asked a question she already 

had the answer too. This was why I was pulling her closer, this adorable way she had about her. I was still drowning in it. "Yeah, I'm awake. I was just going to get up to go make some…"

"No wait." She stopped me as I tried to slide from under her, and she pulled back on my stomach, bringing me to fall back into her warmth. "Ok, you alright?"

"Yes, you're just…so…warm." _Someone kill me now before it's too late. I'm gone, I don't even know where the hell I am anymore. She wants me to stay because I'm warm, because she's warm, because lying with me, she's comfortable. It can't be possible. It just can't be._

"Ok, I'll stay." I said, easing back beneath her as she tightened her grasp around me, her delicate hands pressed through my shirt, my skin burning below. Her face nuzzled into my neck, hair intoxicating, breath sweet and solemn, everything perfect. And because I felt safer in that moment than I had in three years, I wrapped both of my arms around her this time, and held on as closely as I could, as much as I could. I didn't want to let this one go, I couldn't let this one go.

We drifted into sleep together again, thoughts running wild through my mind, all different kinds of things. But most prominently were the images her body conjured up in me, _sea green… Aerosmith…two spoonfuls_.

* * *

Hope all of the breaks weren't too annoying, had a bit of trouble on another site, people getting confused with the POV's. But it won't be that hectic after this chapter, way cleaner :)


	4. A Note and a Plan

**Thank you, **to all of my amazing readers and reviewers, it helps me to write faster and better so it will benefit us all, lol.

**Briller **and **linalove, **I thank you so much for the great comments. Glad the POV's are working out, and enjoyable. I thought it would be a neat change, especially since the movie only ever gets Mort's POV. I wanted a sort of balance :) And yes, thank you GRAM AND JESUS! haha

Here's Chapter 4, and I'll also be posting Ch. 5 since I have it done, hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4: A Note and a Plan**

By the time my eyes finally opened a second time, the sun was stronger, more taunting than before. My usual stretch preceded my yawn, letting socks and toes delegate the armrest at the opposite end while my hands nearly knocked the lamp off of the small table behind me. Once completed in this routine, I rolled my sorry ass from the cushions, (just missing the hairy lard beneath me), and situated into a sort-of propped up position. My glasses were dirty but I shoved them on anyway, and my watch had somehow stopped ticking during the wet events of the night before, but I tugged it on as well despite its uselessness. When I finally came into the kitchen, it donned on me that there had been someone else on the couch earlier, of which now only held my own body odor. Roxanne was gone. _Must have scared her off Morty. _I ignored the tease of my sick inner mind, and moved further into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge door and grabbing a mountain dew. _A mountain dew a day…keeps the demons away._

_Or so you think._

Again, I ignored my mind, desperately, and continued thinking on her absence from the cabin. At some point between her pulling me back to the couch for warmth and now, she had left, without a trace. Sipping dangerously at the can, I walked toward the front door and ventured out into the sticky afternoon, down into the driveway. The truck was gone too. _Why do I always have to be right?_ The heat was unbearable, much too stifling for a robe, so I went back inside to get something to eat, and possibly do some writing. But it was when I walked past the kitchen table a second time that something caught my eye. Paper. Folded Paper. I picked it up, opened and realized what it was. From inside of the paper fell a smaller business card, black with silver lettering. It was the trace that I thought she had forgotten to leave, and the note read simply:

_Hemmingway,_

_Thank you for the coffee, the clothes and the good company last night. I hope I didn't wake you at all leaving this morning… I used my best tiptoe skills. The truck came right out of the mud like you said it would, and I remembered I had a noon meeting in the city, so that's why I didn't stick around longer. Don't let me forget though, I owe you one now!_

_Roxy Love_

_P.S. You are absolutely required to press play on your stereo and dance like you're twenty again. _

"What the hell?" I said it out loud, like a statement, or repeated joke. "Press play on your stereo…" _Oh god_, I thought, _it's only been one night and she's already put chick shit in my stereo. _Of course, this was highly unlikely given her appreciation for all things Aerosmith and her occupation, which apparently keeps her tied to an office still. I held out the card to focus on the smaller font, to see, **ROXY LOVE – Rolling Stone Staff Reporter**, with a cell, fax, and office number as well as an email address: . _Damn, that's heavy. _She was certainly well established, and this only kept me curious, strong women tend to be a passion of mine. I absentmindedly flipped over the card to see she had written with a silver sharpie marker, "Don't be a guy and wait 

three days." Oh yeah I thought to myself, sitting the card and letter down and walking back into the living room, _this girl's amazing. _I was still curious about the music, so I walked over to the stereo above the fireplace and turned it on, almost immediately being drowned by the sound of something sweet, something I hadn't heard in too many years to really count. It was the sound of a girl with dark hair, green eyes, and a taste in music. The speakers began to jolt with the oncoming muse of a particular song, a particular name at that.

_Roxanne…you don't have to put on the red light. _

_Those days are over…you don't have to sell your body to the night. _

Yes, I danced, slowly, slightly as if I was back in time, way back. And the only thing that made it better was that now, nearly thirty years later, I had my very own Roxanne. _Mine? She's not mine. I don't own her. _Confusion was setting in, I could feel it, familiar, jetting. She wasn't mine, I didn't own her, and it was nothing more than one neighbor helping another. _And one wearing the other's boxers…_yes, harmless. The music continued all through my thoughts, down each track as they moved swiftly through the decades of my life, scents, tastes I had forgotten about all coming back with each and every lyric. Sting was followed closely by The Stones, Dr. John, Bob Dylan, Styx, Guns and Roses, just about everything I needed in my life at this point, all of the tunes I had shoved away into an old box after marriage and never retreated to dust off since. But Roxanne was bringing all of this back, a past long since forgotten, long since destroyed by a Barry Manilow fan. _Amy…_I growl now at the very thought of her, like a dog on a short leash in the heat. The more I thought about it, the more I needed to feel free, released by the sound of it all, the sound of two spoonfuls of sugar and sea green crayons. I moved over to the next shelf of the bookcase to where I had CD's piled around convincingly, and went for the one band I knew I needed like oxygen at that point. Big hair and flaming lips, rag dolls and love in an elevator kind of tunes. But almost as soon as my finger scanned to where I had last seen it, the CD was gone. Steven Tyler gone. Joe Perry gone. No more toys in the attic, all gone. And in its place, carefully placed between AC/DC and Def Leppard, was a slim black card. _Another for the growing collection. _I laughed, it was something I should have, and could have never expected, but she pulled it off nicely. _Ensuring a next day call back, is she? _She's smooth; I can give her that a hundred times over. I was incredibly amused, so much so that I felt inspired, ready to get something on paper, prepared to fall back into the keys of my laptop for the day. I took the card upstairs with me, thinking that I would let her sweat a while before dialing one of the numbers listed.

And today, rather than walk through the woods to demand peace and quiet, I let the music carry me away into a world I could have never expected to get back. And yes, I turned it up all the way.

* * *

I knew I was late as soon as I stepped out of the car, but I didn't particularly care. My mind was still reeling from the night before, being saved from the rain, taken in and get warm all night, Mort was too much. Thankfully the truck had come out of the mud easily, and I was able to get back to home without resulting to his extensive charity anymore. But I have to admit, for a girl who's seen one too many jerks in this city, I was incredibly well humored by him and his heroic ways. I wanted to stay longer, maybe buy him breakfast or something, but the text message from Casey on my phone warned me not to be late for the staff meeting, so I had to go. Of course not before I left a thorough trail behind me, this, is something I've gotten to be pretty good at. The letter, cards, his CD's, all of soon to work to my advantage. For now though, I figured I better focus on the meeting and getting at least something done before running back up to the lake for another two weeks.

When I walked inside the building, I immediately came upon one of my partners in crime, holding what I needed desperately. _Starbucks._ "Is that for me?" I begged with an outstretched arm as Eric handed me one of three cups. "Do I ever forget you?" Smiling, I took a huge gulp and followed him into the elevator. My heels were already pressing into the back of my feet, but I ignored it, along with my last minute ensemble. Of course I knew Eric hadn't overlooked it, amazing gay product that he is, he is all knowing and all seeing in the world of New York fashion. "Dear god, were you hit by a Macy's truck?" Just as I thought, he was concerned.

"I wish it had been that easy. I had to drive all the way back to the city, then go to my apartment, then come here."

"So…this is…country chic then?" His giggle was infectious and I laughed along with him, amused personally by what I had come up with. "It's something I stole from Jessica Simpson."

"You're harsh, honey. What the hell crawled up your yoga ass?"

"Nothing, I'm fine. I just hate this elevator." The numbers continued to light up, smooth jazz intoxicating the glazed walls, and the few suits behind trying as hard as they could to brush against me in any way they knew how. It was routine. But as they dial fell to the 9th floor, the doors opened and there waiting for me in all of her uptown glory was Casey, just the person I needed to see. Of course before I could even open my mouth to greet her, I was again insulted on the wardrobe front. "Jesus Rox, what the hell did that lake do to you?"

"Good to see you too Case, don't tell me, you and Elton John over here went to the same insult academy."

"Damn girl, what the hell crawled up your ass and died?"

I huffed it off with a slight grin as Eric and her laughed, and the elevator continued shuffling up three more floors. When the doors opened it was madness, as it always was on Level 13 during a staff meeting. We walked out together, coffee in hand, people waving and smiling at my renewed presence in the office, and then pushed through the large glass doors of the room. Jack, head of the table, the Don Cesar of the rock and roll throne, the Boss Hog of Rolling Stone stood waiting for me it seemed, as if he knew I would be late, with comrades to follow me in. "Hit me with your best shot, kid. And it better be good." He wanted an excuse, a damn good one too or I'd be here till ten o' clock. So I did what Roxy Love does best, I used details and lots of them.

"Well…I've been staying at my grandmother's house on Tashmore Lake, and last night my truck got stuck in the mud near the lake, in a near hailstorm. And then this incredibly sexy mystery writer, Mort Rainey, who lives next door, well next door is more like ten acres, but he came out and saved me. Brought me inside for coffee, and I woke up this morning on his couch, and then had to drive all the way here, go to my apartment to get my best heels for the meeting, and listen to Casey and Eric torment me over my new hillbilly chic style thirteen floors up." The board table was silent, jaws dropped, a few snickers, and Jack shaking his head in a "why-do-I-even-ask" satirical manner. Personally I was impressed by the fact that I had no need to embellish this morning. "Good enough excuse for ya, Jacky?"

"Next time, just tell me you had wild, mountain girl sex and save us all the trouble." _Asshole. _"Sure thing boss." The meeting started off from there, everyone in high spirits over my tale, and taking gratification in the slew of weekend news. Assignments floated around the room like bubbles in a fish tank, and the aggressive few continued to battle it out for the stories they wanted, the stories they needed. Casey was first up today. "I'm telling you, she killed him Jack, those pills were hers! Let me do some work on it, I can get this one for you, I swear."

"Fine, you've got the Olsen twin, but don't screw this one up!"

"I won't."

"Next is Timberlake, he's working on some new album and trying to keep it all under wraps. I need someone to get in close with him for a while, butter the kid up for some details. Who wants it?" It was of course Jade who shot her hand up first in a plead, as we all knew she would, focused more on her obsession than the job. I have to admit, I was hoping to not get anything this go around, to simply lay low for the month, maybe get the house fixed up a bit, spend some time with Mr…

"Alright Roxy!" _Damn. Nevermind. _"You get a choice."

"Do I?" Now I was interested, I never got choices unless it was for an alcoholic beverage or lingerie color.

"You can either cover Kate Hudson's new movie or do some research on these dying polar bears we keep hearing about." _Wow. Kate Hudson or drowning polar bears. Seems Roxy Love has hit her all new low. _This would be the perfect time for me to nix both, take my coffee and head for the door. I've got enough money saved to live on, I can write recon from the lake, do whatever I want. No more Roxy Love. A grumble left my lips before replying, "Give me the polar bears." I took the assignment with stride, leaving the meeting as proudly as ever and made my way to my office, where followed Thing One and Two. I already knew what they were going to ask before it even left their mouths, I knew exactly what they were interested in, and all I could think about myself was one thing.

_I hope he calls._

* * *

The words were flying like mad throughout my mind, and I couldn't stop typing if I tried. Sentence after sentence flowed from somewhere I had never known before, a deep oceanic crest inside me, some incredible black hole of inspiration only now open wide. I let music carry on for hours repeated, filling every last corner of the cabin with its droning spell, a cascade of freedom and life. Riley slept at my feet, only stirring once when I used the bathroom. It was working for me today, and I couldn't have been happier when I hit the finally save button on eight chapters of work completed. The feeling was just what I needed, and my stomach was angered at the same time. I went downstairs with Riley hot on my trail, begging for everything I pulled out of the cupboards. _Chips…P&J…Twinkies? _

"Hmmm…maybe I should just got to the damn store." _New London is pretty far Morty. _It always played into my mind that I was not welcomed so warmly in Tashmore, especially at the market. But maybe, just for today I could deal with those pessimists. I stood longingly between the doorway of the kitchen and where my keys dangled on the rack, trying to pick a route of success, something to fill my stomach. Somewhere between cracking my jaw and brushing back my sticky hair, I was reminded of a third option. _The card. _She left it purposefully, with a note attached practically begging for a call, and I was starving. _Don't forget horny. _"Shut up."

I jumped the stairs two at a time, leaving Riley to fend for his self while I went to the loft to find my cell phone. The card was still laying at the edge of the desk, begging to be used. So I sat down very casually, stretched my knuckles over the phone, cracked my jaw once more, and lifted both. I dialed her cell phone number hastily, as if the phone might explode if I didn't go quickly, and then brushed back my hair to fit the receiver to my ear. And then the ringing began…_one…two…three…four…five. Click. "Hey this is Roxy; I'm either at work or away from my phone. Leave a message and I'll back to you as soon as possible. Thanks." _

"Damn." I shut the phone and held it tightly, waiting for the right moment to try one of the others set of numbers. I opted for her office phone since I had a strange feeling someone was still there, whether her or not. It was only four thirty. So I dialed the number, and waited for the rings to be established…one…two…

"Rolling Stone Magazine, Roxy Love's office, how may I help you?" _Shit, it worked._ "Uhh, yeah hi I was just wondering if Roxanne was available to talk?"

"May I ask whose calling?"

"Um, M-Mort. My name's Mort Rainey."

"Hold on just one second Mr. Rainey." The girl was gone quickly, with some drably jazz tune replacing her. I waited patiently, fidgeting with her business card on the desk, my knee twitching like a nervous wreck, just waiting. A moment later I heard her voice again, a young girl, not Roxanne, but young. "Mr. Rainey?"

"Yes."

"I'll put you through to Roxy."

"Thank you." And just like that the phone connected into an office in some distant corner of Rolling Stone headquarters, a place I could see in my mind's eye, a girl I could see even more vividly. And then I heard the sweetest of all lyrics I listened to today, "Mort?"

* * *

"Roxy? Ahem…Roxy?" I shuffled from the window where I had been looking out over the park with Casey, and pushed the red button to speak. "Yeah, what is it Lily?"

"Umm there's a Mr. Rainey on the phone for you. Should I put him through?" From where Eric sat at the foot of my desk, I could see a short grin run the corner of his lips, which must have meant I was smiling. _Oh god, I am smiling. Like a fool. _He's on the phone, which means he found everything, and is calling me back. With the obvious reinstated in my mind, I finally coughed back my surprise and laughed, "Y-yes, put him through."

"Okay." She responded quickly, and when I saw the blue light flash on the phone, I knew the damage has been done. Now he was waiting. Time was suspending…slowly…my hand moved to lift the phone. It finally picked it up, with Casey and Eric laughing hysterically at me. And before I realized what I was even doing, I answered. "Mort?" Rather than silence, I heard a shuffle of feet against hard wood, something similar to pacing. I was amused. "Mort you there?"

"Uh oh, yeah hey."

"Hi." Another drop of silence, but still just as funny as the last when I noticed him holding back an urge in his throat. _He would be terrible at phone sex. _"I just, um well, wanted to call and say hey." _My god, _I thought inside, _he's adorable when he doesn't know what to say. _The two most impatient friends in the world sat across from me, waiting wide eyed and bright, hoping for a bit to for a rumor on. My throat quivered much the same as his had before I eventually worked up the nerve to respond again. "Well…hey then." He laughed from the other end, and 

thankfully I followed with his simple reply, "Hey." But then the reply continued, and he kept talking, and it was fast and endless, and it was a request of some sort. "I know it's kind of late and you're probably working late, but uh, if you're not then I was wondering…" He was still going a mile a minute, asking me something, something that sounded remotely like a date but my brain couldn't focused on words. "…I guess if you're still in the city then I could drive in and meet you…" I could only think of his face, and scrunched nose, and messy hair. "…it sounds like a nice place, I've never been before, but I thought maybe you'd want to go tonight?" I didn't have a clue what he had mentioned, but _"place"_, all I knew was that I was in. And judging by the thumbs up and luminescent grins from across my desk, they had heard exactly what I had through the receiver. _Geez, okay Roxanne…this is when you respond. Say…yes…Roxanne…_

"I thought I was supposed to owe you one Mr. Rainey."

"Ah well, I guess you do. But hey let me take you to dinner, and you can spend the meal thinking about how to repay me." He was getting better and better, smoother like butter every time we talked. I couldn't possibly turn him down; the request was too sweet, too perfectly timed. "I think I can manage that." When I giggled into the receiver I could have sworn I heard him lightly exhale, and it brought a smile to my face that had never been there before. "Great, do you want me to pick you up at your office?"

"Oh, well I still have my apartment here in Manhattan."

"Cool, got an address?"

"Well yes, I think you're required to have an address to live somewhere." I was trying to be a smartass, and I guess he liked it because he laughed before he shot back with, "Unless it's under a bridge in Central Park. In which case I might change my mind."

"No, it's not under a bridge, sorry to disappoint. Got a pen?"

"Yes ma'am I have a pen."

"Okay…its 386…"

"38…6…ok?"

"Madison Avenue."

"Madison, ok."

"And I'm apartment 2."

"Got it."

"Good." Taking a quick breath, I looked over to return the thumbs up to my insistent friends. Mort continued on, in that sweet, _quaint, _Mort kind of way I was starting to become accustomed to. "So any particular time you want me to come?" This was always a tough question for any girl, but I wasn't too terribly dependent on looking perfect, so I told him eight, laughed a few more times, and fell into a short goodbye. "See you at eight."

"Sounds good, thanks Mort."

"Of course. Bye."

"Bye." My jaw fell to the desk, my heart beat wildly and I began to spill every detail into their ears, sweet syllable by sweet, sweet, _sweetness_….

"Oh yeah, I've got him hooked."

* * *

Flipping back my cell phone and tossing it to the table, I woke Riley up with my exuberant stretching. I was more than excited by her response, I was proud of myself for finally getting my ass back out there. The two of us stood to move from the loft, possibly to find something decent for me to wear out, get cleaned up, attempt to look my best for her. And as I walked into the bedroom and began shuffling through dress shirts, I looked over at Rye who stood near the bed with a tongue hanging from side of his mouth.

"What?" I said to him, annoyed by the glaring eye. "Don't be so jealous. I'll find you a chick too."


	5. Pickup or Delivery?

**Authors Note: **The song that Mort listens to in the car is titled **"Come Pick Me Up" **by _Ryan Adams. _You may recognize it from the Elizabethtown soundtrack, :)

Obviously I don't own it, or any of the other references in this story, especially Mr. Rainey. Dang...lol

* * *

**Chapter 5: Pickup or Delivery?**

"Oh you dirty whore."

"What, nothing went on!"

"Maybe not _on…_but _off…_or even a slight _in_?" The three of us had long since gotten to the subject of Mort, and the night prior, and all of the bits and pieces to make up my tale. While Casey insisted on me doing everything on purpose to reel him in, Eric went on and on about the possibilities of a couch in a lone cabin. I had to admit, they always were rather amusing when it came to next day conversations, and it always appeared mine were the most entertaining. "Is it even sanitary to have sex in a place like that?" Eric asked, with a glow of indifference to my choice of men.

"Oh my god, I'm not having this conversation right now." When I finally managed to stand up and get back in my heels, the clock on the wall read five to six, and I knew I was cutting it close. Mort would need me to buzz him in at eight, as well as the fact that I still had at least an hour's drive in Manhattan traffic, and the issue of finding something to wear out. _But to where?_ I didn't even know where he was taking me, since his passionate vocal cords had drowned out every bit of information from the phone call. _Shit. _"Alright, I gotta go. Casey toss me my keys!" As she threw them to me, the issue immediately went to wardrobe, the first thing on both of their minds, _all_ the time.

"Do you know what you're gonna wear?"

"Christ, I hope it's better than that potato sack you stole from his barn this morning." I rolled my eyes at Eric, letting him know it still wasn't working, and I still had every intention of finding myself back on the lake. I knew they both worried about me a lot, having only ever known me as Roxy, the girl with the pay stub stilettos and laser bikini waxes. The lake was a part of me they had never known, may possibly never understand, and that was certainly fine with me. Because better yet, I knew one person who could. "Don't worry guys, I'll make you proud."

"You better or no Fashion Week for you."

"And we want a detailed account of every smile…every touch…" Casey went drug on as I stepped towards the door, slinging my huge purse over my shoulder and jangling my keys at them. "…every kiss…ever ORGASM!" _Oh yeah, the whole office heard that one. Good job Case. _As I walked down the hall of gold plated albums, signature covers, and Hunter's sterling Fear and Loathing manuscript, I felt confident that I was by far as great as anything to have ever waltzed through the thirteenth floor of Rolling Stone. And if I wasn't, at least it was a well known fact that I had tale-worthy orgasms to my name. Before I reached Lily's desk, I yelled back so that even Jack could hear me through his double pained glass doors, "Don't worry everyone, I promise to yell his name so loud, that you all can be witnesses to the glory of it!" While the office was in an uproar of applause, Boss Hog opened his door, poked his balding sheen out, and merely stared me down with that glinting smirk he was known to give to anyone with a high opinion of themselves. It was the smirk that preceded raises; the one that told me I was well loved and respected in this building, a well needed comical presence. "Roxanne, stay out of trouble tonight."

"Are you doubting me Jack?"

"Never kid, just…don't give me a reason to send you to the Times. Okay?"

"Aye Aye, Chief." I waved him off with a salute as Lily handed me my afternoon messages. "I shall do you honor in the bedroom." And at that he turned around back inside of his office, and I looked down to my shy, ill experienced secretary, who made me remember my interning days all too well. "Um…you have an interview with one of the Global Green representatives next Tuesday. A…Daniel Penn."

"Alright."

"And, Miss Knightley called to remind you of the Chanel benefit this weekend."

"Damn, I forgot. Can get out of that one?"

"Oh well…I don't know. I could make a few calls for you."

"Please." And when she was finished reciting my messages and news allotment, I spun around ready to leave for the day, go home and take a warm shower, and prepare to see that furrowed brow and wispy haired mess of a man that had been on every second of my thoughts. But as I walked away, trying to focus on the evening to be had, I heard a phone ring, a constant, uncontrollable ringing that I recognized all too well, quickly followed by the pattering of youthful lips, "Rolling Stone Magazine, Roxy Love's office." _God, I was so close. Well bring it on Orlando…have another go at it. Or maybe it's that American Idol kid, asking where he can send a dozen roses…hmmm._

"Roxy?" Nothing could have pained me more than turning back to see Lily holding the receiver of a phone towards me, waiting for me to re-approach her desk for the inquiry. I hated my job at six on Mondays. "Yeah, who is it?"

"It's your sister." Well, that's just as bad as any celebrity one liners. Sydney must have needed something to be calling not only my office, but at the worst possible time, of my least favorite day of the week. She must have been desperate. So I decided to humor myself, step into the lion's den with a can of mace and answer the phone. When I took the call from Lily, she smiled and began packing up for the day, only making me more jealous of being tied to the coming conversation. "Syd?"

"Oh good, you didn't leave yet."

"No…but my finger was practically on the elevator button if that counts for anything."

"I'm sorry, I know you've probably been there all day. I've been trying to reach your cell phone, but you must have it off."

"I did, what's up?" It was the tone of her voice, that affectionate, pleading, sisterly tone that meant she wanted something. The mother in her was being shelved by the sibling favor she required, and my head was already pounding well before the request. "Alex and I have to go to this last minute charity event for his firm tonight, and well I tried calling the babysitter but she's still recovering from her boob job, and the nanny left for Vegas on Saturday…" _The epitome of Manhattan childcare. Boob jobs and gambling skills a must. It's a fantastic city to raise kids in. Oi._

"So you need someone to watch Jake and Emily."

"Yes, desperately. And I know its last minute, but I figured they would rather hang out with you than a strange babysitter from the agency. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't any emergency, and…." She just went on and on, nearly as fast as Mort had, but not half as seductively of course. She was brazen with fear that she might miss out on a single opportunity to escalate her status in SoHo society. Usually, it was entertaining to sit and listen to her 

pleading babbles, but on this occasion it was just distracting. I knew that if I let her drop off Jake and Emily that I would have to cancel with Mort, and that was frustrating. First decent guy I meet in years, and he gets overshadowed by a four and eight year old. _Dammit. The good aunt in me always wins out. _"…you know I really hate to do this to you, with having been at the office all day and just…"

"Syd."

"…probably having an article to write or a party to go to, but we'll pick them up by midnight…"

"Sydney." She went on still.

"…I swear this is the only time I'll ask last minute sweetie, I just need to…"

"SYDNEY!" It had actually worked, actually shut her the hell up. "What?"

"You know they can always come over, it's fine. Bring them by on your way."

"Are you sure?"

"I dare you to ask that question again."

"You're the best, they'll be so happy to see you. We'll drop them off around seven thirty."

"Sounds good. See you then."

"Bye, love you." And then the phone clicked on her end in a hasty manner, as if she was packing pull ups and cheerios the whole time. My sister is an incredible force, but when it comes to last minute events, she resembles a chicken with its head dangling over the backside of its body. Humorous yes, but on a night like tonight, when I had planned to be picked up, taken out, romanced in the city, it was just annoying. But I wouldn't mention Mort to her, as far as she knew he was just a very handsome neighbor that had stumbled into Gram's backyard looking for his dog. And for now, tonight at least, it would stay that way. Handing the phone back to Lily, I breathed heavily in exhaustion and she giggled at me. _Ah, to be nineteen again without a care in whole world. I wanna be Lily again. _

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah, I've just been assigned as Chef Boyardee tonight."

_I hate my horrible life sometimes. _

* * *

_Fucking car oil might work. _"Jesus." My reflection was taunting me, more than likely because I was already running late, but it was playing an affinity of jokes on me at this point. I couldn't decide who would be more ashamed of my unruly mane, Uncle Fester or my mother. The hair wouldn't settle, no matter the strength of my brush or the amount of glue mixed into the gel, it just kept standing on end. Twisted, sick mess that it was. I was beginning to 

think that maybe I could go the River Phoenix grunge look and satisfy her rock and roll spirit that way. But then I doubt the restaurant would appreciate it. "I fucking give up, it's like fighting with an amoeba. Shit."

_It won't matter Morty boy, Roxanne's just going to pull it out of the root anyway. _The inner sanctum of my mind was taunting again, trying to get me aroused before I even made it into the city. I could have easily argued back against it, but in the end the battle would be lost to the simple fact that it was right. It was always right. And the more I thought about it, the more I enjoyed the images being conjured up, fingers tugging at hair desperately, not giving a damn about it in the instance of grotesque lovemaking. _Just what the doctor ordered. _I struggled with the hearty tumbleweed of my head for a few more minutes, before finally giving up and going back to the bedroom to change. I figured that with her personality, simplicity would get me more points than anything, so I opted for the only decent pair of jeans I owned and white dress shirt. No tie. I have one single exception to ties, and that's if someone dies. _Like Amy. _"No." _Like Ted? _"Go away." _What about Roxanne?_ The voice was entering a territory I didn't understand and couldn't, a reference to such a thing, Roxanne dead. I didn't want to even ponder why it had come to me, or why it was blowing through my head. Instead I went back to buttoning my shirt, spraying on some Stetson and pulling on my dressier boots. I was set and ready to leave finally, went downstairs and left Riley with food and water, grabbed my keys and flew outside to the Jeep. It was just starting to get darker on the lake by the pastels of the sky, and dusk settled in the trees. The radio was blaring as I pulled out of the drive, a song I had heard a few times but never placed its origins. Good, almost fearfully accenting every moment of my knowing her thus far.

_I wish you would…I wish you would…._

_Come pick me up. Take me out. Fuck me up. Steal my records. _

_Screw all my friends, they're all full of shit. _

_With a smile on your face, and then do it again. _

_I wish you would…_

Driving along the path surrounding the lake, I tried to continue brushing down my hair anyway I knew how, spit working a little better. _Isn't that just the damndest thing. 'Hi Roxanne, let's have sex and you can run your fingers through my saliva nest.' Jesus. _With my attention completely diverted from the road for the moment, it never appeared to me that someone might be driving the opposite direction, or possibly even walking. And when I turned my attention back, it was a short flash of red and black against my headlights that stung my blurry eyes, my glasses in the seat next to me lacking any advantage. "Holy…shit…" Something was directly in front of the car, and I floored the gas to a halt and spun the wheel off toward the other direction, shouting, cursing all the way. "Fuck!" The Jeep rounded about into a grassy patch at the hillside of the mountain, nearly rolling off into the lake itself, and I darted my useless sight through the windshield, grabbed my glasses from the passenger seat and jumped out to check the scene. Walking past the back end of my truck was a man, a tall, stalking man from what I could see. His beaten old red coat, black wool cap, and walking stick assured me he was just a harmless neighbor out for a walk around the lake. "Hey, hey buddy! I'm sorry, are you ok?!" There was no response, he just continued walking with his back to me and stick protruding out across the dirt. _Is he blind? _"Hey…" still nothing. I wasn't sure whether to follow him off and make sure no damage had been done, or to get back in the car and not worry about it. He seemed fine, better than fine, nearly pissed at me, which is understandable. The man was quite a distance now, barreling into the darkness of the path without a single word. So I walked back to my car, throwing him once last glance and then drove off towards town and the highway.

"God, I need a smoke." And so puff I did, all the way to the city limits.

* * *

**7:18**

The limo outside honked three times to alert me of their presence, and when I peeked outside of the front bay window I saw them. The two most immature, ridiculous human beings on the planet…and their adorable kids. Emily was swung over Sydney's Eves Saint Laurent hip, eyes wide with excitement, and Jake stood idly nearby with his dad, some sort of electronic game glued to his palms. They were quite a sight, always were. While I watched them a few seconds longer, I began to think about Mort again, I didn't have his number to reach him since he had called me at the office, and apparently 411 locate doesn't work for Tashmore Lake, so I was screwed. I left my apartment and took the elevator to meet them halfway on the steps. Emily immediately jumped from Syd's arms and ran into mine, her blueberry shampoo wafting in my nose, and the delicate stench of Fruit Loops upon her breath as she kissed my cheek. "How ya doing Bumble Bee?"

"Good." She smiled and shoved the teddy bear dangling from her grip into my face. The same bear that had withstood my childhood at the lake, my grandmother had bought it for me, kept it well and when finally recovered in a box, I had given it a decent wash and brought it to the room of a hospital three years ago now. She had worn it out even better than I had. I looked over at Jake, still waiting for my hug, or kiss, high five, whatever it was eight year old city boys did nowadays. "What's up Jake, how you doing buddy." I got a nod. _Okay…I guess that works. _This whole time Sydney had run her mouth about phone numbers, precious contacts, instructions of care for the booger fiends, and miles more of information I had been preview to for the last eight years. "Alright, got it."

"We'll be back around twelve or so to get them, I hope that's ok?"

"It's perfect."

"Alright, Jacob come here and give me a kiss." When she stooped down to rub her Cover Girl across his cheek, he groaned, made a face and wiped it away even faster. I just stood laughing. "Em, I love you, Mommy will be back later." She kissed Emily much the same way, but instead of wiping it away, she smeared her tiny fingers through the candy apple shade and touched it to her own lips. _I always knew this one was going to be a ball buster like me…_When the carefree parents ran back to the limo, waved through the window and took off down Park, I steered Jake inside with promises of candy on the coffee table upstairs, and stumbled back inside the elevator behind him with Emily and a six ton diaper bag in my hand. _Oh I'm sure this will turn Mort on. I can see it now…'Hey Mort, sorry we can't go out to dinner after all because I have to potty train and watch Sesame Street. But you're more than welcome to join us!' Not…_

_I bet that old Jeep of his can push 120 in a desperate flee. _

**

* * *

****8:05**

"384…85…" I openly marked each building as I passed metered Land Rovers and Mercedes, and finally came to it. "386." Beautifully lit, maple trees on the sidewalk, and a 63' Mustang I knew could only belong to one occupant, try as she might to fit into Upper East Side standards. I chuckled and parked in front of her car, jumped out, ignored the meter, and approached the steps of the building. A couple who were leaving held the door open long enough for me to catch onto it, greeting me warmly. I figured I should at least make an effort to appear with good intentions, and so I inquired about whether this was Roxanne Hayden's building, to which they smiled, and the beautiful pregnant woman replied, "She really is popular tonight." I didn't know what to think about that, so I nodded and thanked them before going inside the building. The elevator took awhile to catch, which seemed odd for such a quiet part of town, but I waited solemnly, tapping my boot on the tiled floor, scratching my nose, my head, my stomach, anything to occupy the minutes of prolonging agony.

When it finally lit up on the lobby level, I breathed deeply as the doors slowly opened. At first I thought it was empty, but as the reflecting metal brushed back further, I saw him, a boy. He was wearing some sort of crazy hat, a couple of twizzlers dangling from his lips, and a Cosmopolitan magazine in his hand. _Umm…okay, _I thought, stepping inside and greeting him with a smirk, _he can't be more than 6_. Something about him seemed familiar, almost primitive to my own childhood, like watching an old photo come to life in front of me, and I was intrigued. Looking at the buttons haphazardly, I noticed the second floor was already lit up, more than likely as part of his excursion. So I left it alone and waited for the doors to close while he continued reading into the pages of graphic material. That is, until he looked over at me, wide eyed and curious, and said, "Did you know…that 88 of women think that foreplay is a waste of time?" Oh yes, this kid was me thirty years ago. I was shocked at first, then stunned, then just blown away by the seriousness of his tone, as if the information would prove him well in his own world. I had to respond, or try to at least. "I didn't know that, but thank you." And then I chuckled and turn back to the numbers, until he jumped at me again. "Did you know that 41 of men say…that if they could only experience one move during sex for the rest of their life…they would choose….hearing the girl _moan_?" The last syllable of his inquiry was as dead on as anything I could imagine a child saying to me and it was then that I noticed a strange feeling rising in my gut, my head, my spirits going a dangerous direction.

"Uhh…" _Jesus…what the hell is this kid doing to me? Please god, fucking get to floor two quicker. _The light flicked on, the doors brushed back, and I smiled at him once more before hopping out of the elevator. It was only seconds later though, that he had followed me, still mumbling some sort of statistic about boobs and sweat, I'm not really sure. But as I continued down the short hallway, to the only door on the entire floor, I heard him finally ask, "Are you lost?"

"I don't think so, this is apartment two right?"

"Yeah." I was going to ask him if he was lost, but I assumed he was just being a nosy kid, and so knocked on the cherry wood door twice, swiftly, desperately almost. If this was Roxanne, she was taking a long time to answer, or maybe it was just my nerves playing tricks on me. Or maybe the kid staring up at me, just waiting to load and fire his next question. _Please somebody save me from…_ "I'm Jake."

"I'm Mort."

"So are you hear to have sex with my Aunt?" Before my jaw had a chance to drop, my eyes darted to the swinging door, and the new, fresh, even more interesting scene before me. There she was, well, technically. It was more of a ballerina, mermaid, _80's pop star_ version of Roxanne, with thick shades, a pink feather boa, neon fish nets, crazy stilettos, masses of glittering jewelry and a mock grin that forced me to fight off the urge to kiss it. She put 

Madonna to every ounce of shame. And beside her as my head tilted downwards, was a mini version of the woman who had filled my mind, a three foot tall Roxy Love, magenta shades to match, with scarves and ribbons tangled and weaved around her small body, and of course, a pair of sparkling heels that were at least four sizes too big. _Incredible,_ I thought to myself with a glow in my already stricken appearance, waiting, hoping I wouldn't have to speak first. And I didn't.

"Where's the food, Pizza man?" Not only did it break the ice, but it allowed me to see that smirk of endearment that Roxanne had to her, it melted every black corner of my heart. The little girl beside her was enthusiastic, nearly bolting into me in search of food, though I quickly assured her I wasn't the delivery guy and she stopped to smile at me. "Who are you?" I wanted to answer her kindly, but Roxanne stepped in and held her to the crook of her legs as she looked at me and smiled as brightly as the little girl had. "Emily, this is my friend Mr. Rainey."

"Rain..E?"

I was quick to insist upon no formalities. "But you can just call me Mort."

"Mort…" she said questionably, stepping out from Roxy's hold and moving in to look me up and down. "You smell like my daddy." It was complimentary for someone her height, age, and of her wardrobe choices, so I took it with a grain of salt and pride. "Aunt Ray can he stay for pizza?"

"Only if he brought a…condom…_inium_ to use." We all turned to look over at Jake, and his false wording while still focused on what I now took to be Roxanne's magazine. She snatched it from him and told him to come inside to wash up, while she pulled back Emily and moved to the side to let me in. "You're more than welcome to stay…if, well, if you want to I guess?" Something in her voice resembled defeat, as if the kids surrounding her were going to keep me from staying, or keep me from wanting to spend time with her anyway. It wasn't that I didn't like kids, it's just that I didn't have a whole lot of experience dealing with them. But nonetheless, now was the time that I needed to prove her wrong. "Do I get to dress up too?" I knew that would work, and like a charm it brightened every beautiful inch of her face, and I moved inside.

* * *

Embarrassment would be too weak a word at this moment, maybe bewildered, disconcerted, humiliated, oh no wait I got it…mortified. _Ahh it has such a nice ring to it. Roxanne Mortification Hayden. _Mort walked inside, a whiff of his delicious cologne pattering against my heated cheeks, my pounding chest, my _mortified_ mind. Once we were all somewhat settled in the living room, he began to look around, making mental notes of my taste in fabrics, furniture, window treatments. It was funny to watch, despite how awkward I could feel the situation becoming. But then again maybe not, he seemed generally at ease with the kids, although they were two of the most bizarre children I could have thrown his way. I noticed how clean, how well put together he looked and it made he feel terrible about the circumstances. Even his hair was fixed to please the city life, the romanticism I had longed for. I prayed inwardly, over and over again that he wasn't too upset. "Your place is so cozy." He grinned when he said this, as if he was already wondering what was down the hall, to the right, and under the feather down comforter. "I like it."

"Oh good, cause I'm trying to win back some points here."

"Trust me you're well past the earning potential." This made me blush, I'm sure of it.

"Please Mort make yourself comfortable. I'm going to…well…" I stumbled over words, looking down to my outfit, again mortified, "I'm just going to run through my time machine real quick." At least I was making him laugh some, it was nice to hear his laugh again. Funny how a whole 20 hours had come and gone like drought when it came to him. "Can I get you anything to drink?" He debated it from the look in his eyes, and then peered over to where Emily was sitting with a juice box, turned right back to me and smiled. "Can I get one of those on the rocks?" Emily scrunched her nose at him, "Eww…you drink rocks?" Both of us were amused, despite Jake's remark which was always bound to come. "No dummy, he means he wants booze."

"Jake…"

Mort looked up to me in rapture, "Smart kid."

"Don't I know it. There's all kinds of stuff in the fridge, umm soda, beer, just go right ahead and I'll get changed."

"Sure, take your time." He was adorable, always when he didn't try. I eventually tore myself away from him, those eyes, and went down the hallway to my room where Emily followed, clacking heels and all.

* * *

Watching the pair of them tumble down the hall, feathers dropping like leaves in a breeze, I was mesmerized. Completely caught up in what little breath I even had left. I thought she couldn't get any better, I assured myself that last night was the epitome of it, the ending point, the top of the glass. But I had been proven wrong again, and I wouldn't be surprised if this happened every time I saw her, from here on out. For now though, my thoughts were interrupted by the constant stare and interest of a certain, incredibly knowledgeable boy. I turned on the couch to see Jake glaring at me, eyes burning with questions he was sure if he wanted to ask, so I just smiled, and he made the statement of the year. "Your face is famous." _Atta' boy Jake, call me out properly. This kid is brilliant. _

"Is that right?"

"Yeah…you're in the back of all of those books Aunt Ray has. The scary ones."

"She has my books?"

"Duh, all of them." I enjoyed the mature reasoning of his mind, and before I knew it he was pulling at my hand and jumping up from the couch. "Come on, I'll show you." Sliding from the sofa, I caught my balance and allowed him to tug me through to the front of the apartment where her office was. It was dark, but Jake found the light and when my eyes finally focused on the room, I felt I could have gone blind with shock. Shelves and shelves of books lined the room, from the ceiling to the floor, piles of them in corners, stacks on the desk, the table, the couch, everywhere. Bindings as far as I could see, and titles I could double into my own library back at the cabin. Chaucer, Dickens, Koontz, Salinger, Shakespeare, all of them, sloppily put together into one of the most satisfying scenes I had ever been witness to. And while I was more than willing to dig through her collection, Jake insisted on me following him to the high shelves, and stepping in front of them, books at my eye level and above, I waited until he pointed to it. "There they are, those are all yours right there."

And there they were, all 16 titles, lined neatly, in order of publication from what I could tell, on my very own shelf in her collection. _My god, is it possible she's as fascinated with me as I am with her? _I couldn't stop looking at them, I took a few off the shelf one by one, noting the wear and tear, as if they had been read over and over in desperation of a meaning, a clue, something. She had read my books almost as many times as I had thrown them away, and almost as many times as I had collected her articles from Rolling Stone. _This is more than just fascination….this is tiptoeing the line of destiny._ I would have continued to look, at everything, all of her books, but there was a short buzz at the front door, and Jake determined it before I even could think of who it might be. "It's the pizza!" He darted off past me while I settled _Everybody Drops the Dime_ back into place, and turned the corner to follow him back. From down the hall I saw him standing up high to reach the speaker box to the street. "Delivery for Hayden?"

"Yeah, that's us! Bring it up!" When I made it to where he was teetering on a chair to the speaker, I helped him down swiftly and we unlocked and chained the front door while the delivery guy was jogging the stairs. He came up pretty quick and with Roxanne still off changing and unaware of the buzz, I dug into my back pocket for my wallet when he handed the pizzas to Jake. "How much is it?"

"21.60, man."

A fifty made its way from between the other bills and I handed it to him, "Here ya go."

"Uh, I don't think I've got change for this."

"No problem, it's yours."

"Hey, thanks man!"

"Sure." And when the excited college delivery guy ran off with my fifty, I shut the door and went back to the couch where Jake had settled the pizza boxes out for everyone. And while he dug in, I watched on humored and waited to see what choice of wardrobe Roxanne had in mind for our next meeting.

* * *

"Aunt Ray…?" Emily sat on the bed in front of me, while I took the jewelry off of her, as well as the lipstick and eye shadow she had insisted upon. "Yeah Bee."

"Is Mr. Rainman your new husband?" She inquired so innocently about it, in a way she actually believed fit together, and for that I could hardly bear to reprimand her mistake. "Nope, I'm not married you know that. And his name is Rainey, Em." The strands of pearls woven around her neck were a mess, as well as the ribbons she had haphazardly tangled in her brown curls, but I tried hard not to pull or hurt her. One thing I always hated about being her age was my mother pulling too hard at my hair, attempting to put it into some decent structure for whatever party, or benefit, or societal event we had to attend. This is most of the reason why I enjoyed taking Emily and Jake in on nights that Sydney and Alex had to go out, I thought they needed a normal childhood than that compared to mine. "Well do you love him Aunt Ray?" Again, she asked the question as if it merited a simple enough answer, and I guess it did. A four year old asking if I was in love with a man sitting on my couch, mere feet away. _Too impossible. _"I don't think so…I don't know." _How could I be in love with him. I'd known him a week, and _

_only spent one night in his cabin, 'drying off'. _But the more the question settled in my brain, and the less strange our ensembles became in the changing process, the more I focused in on it. Although it was conspired by a four year old with an imagination, it almost sounded odd enough to be true. "What do you think?"

"I think he looks like Prince Charming from my book!" _How is this my sister's child? Emily is every bit her Aunt as far as I'm concerned. _I leaned in to her ear, smiling as she felt threatened with a ticklish whisper, and replied, "Me too." Then she turned to me and giggled, and after helping her get situated in her pajamas, I found an old pair of jeans and a white t-shirt for myself, never once realizing the match I would make to Mort. When finally we were done, Emily ran from the bedroom and into the living room as if something had caught her attention, and I threw my hair into a messy ponytail and followed her out. And then I knew exactly what had caught hold of her, _pizza…the scent of it floating through the house. Mort had paid for it. Now I owe him twice. _I fought my mind and heart with a few more steps until I landed in the living room with the three of them passing around slices of cheese and pepperoni. It was quite a sight I will admit, but I wouldn't have traded it for the world.

Mort smiled at me and held out a slice of cheese pizza, "What happened to Lauper and Nicks?" There was nothing he couldn't say to me, nothing he couldn't do, that would just make me fall harder and harder into him at this point. I curled onto the rug opposite their side of the coffee table, and took the pizza from him. "Sorry we only do one show a night, right Cyndi?" Emily nodded, not fully understanding anything being said, but still sure it was about her. Mort laughed and locked his eyes to mine, not trying to be seductive, but failing anyway. "Well I like Roxanne better than Stevie anyhow." _Somebody pinch me please, pinch me before I drown in those eyes. _


	6. Don't Wanna Miss A Thing

**WARNING: **Both this chapter and the next will have mature sexual themes involved, so if that's something you're not too keen on, its fine, I've placed warnings before the material in both chapters for a second warning. It should follow the standards for the site for the most part. :)

**

* * *

****Chapter 6: I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing**

It was a few hours later at least that the four of us had wound up on the couch, stretched out, snuggled, as close as any family should be. But this wasn't my family, and this wasn't my wife or my kids. In all reality Roxanne, Emily and Jake were mere strangers to my life, and in a strange sort of way, that felt good. Jake had somehow become woven beneath Roxanne's grasp, his head under her chin warmly as both of them dozed in and out of sleep. Emily had insisted, well rather screamed to watch something called Veggie Tales. At first I'll admit, I was hesitant to watch a hoard of vegetables dance and sing and tell bible stories, never having been very religious myself, and rather enjoying my carrots and peas on a plate. Yet when she crawled into my lap, auburn curls bouncing under my nose, and started reciting all of the lines to me, I have to admit I was content, amused. Maybe this is what it would have been like, my own little girl, my own perverted son, with Amy. Maybe…_but that doesn't matter now, and it never will again. Amy is gone, Roxanne is here now. _And so there she fell asleep in my arms, which although strange, unfamiliar in my mind, were just as warm as anyone else's to her. I had sat wide awake, watching three of the most peaceful sleepers in the world, and a cucumber with a turban on. _Interesting, but well worth every moment of it. _

After a while, I looked over from the TV to see Roxanne looking right at me, the green sparkle in her eyes returning in the darkness of the room. I gulped back the weight of my mind and smiled, waiting to see if she would just simply nod right back off again, but she didn't, she stared warmly and grinned back. Whispering seemed only fair with two kids in our laps, so we exchanged words from one side of the couch to the other. "Mort…I'm really sorry…about..." I cut her off, I knew exactly where she was headed, and it would have been entirely pointless. "Hey, didn't I tell you to stop apologizing…?" With a nod from her, I continued. "It's fine really. It's more than fine…this was fun for me."

"Really?"

"Really…really." I could tell there was something else she wanted to say, but instead she exhaled deeply, and began settling Jake onto the couch as she stood up. Waiting until she approached me and Emily, she gently leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Want a glass of wine?" _Is she trying not to wake up the sleeping child in my arms, or is she being seductive?_ I fondled over my mind for what seemed an eternity before finally tilting my head beneath her sweet voice. I got up carefully and laid Emily opposite Jake, covering her with a blanket thrown over the back of the couch, and then turned to see Roxanne walking to the kitchen, more seductively than any woman before her in history. _88 of all women, huh Jake? _Laughing it off I followed her, barefoot, desperate, praying somewhere in the back of my head.

* * *

I think my knees were shaking, wobbling with fear of temptation by the time I made it into the kitchen. I'd never felt this way about any man before, at least not as genuinely as I did at this moment, and that scared me more than anything else. I reached up to the wine rack and grabbed a bottle of California Merlot, some vineyard, some brand I didn't care to know, I just wanted to drink, I needed to drink to calm myself. And it was as I began twisting open the stubborn cork, that Mort turned the corner into the kitchen, grinning like a fool for God knows what 

reason, and stood next to me at the counter. There were so many things I wanted to inquire about, as I'm sure there was for him too, but I started off with the obvious. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Depends."

While he tried to be coy, I took two glasses down from the shelf and began to slowly pour out the wine. "On what?" "Well, on whether or not you're going to let me drink that first." He made a good enough point, and so I handed him one of the glasses and smirked before walking back out of the kitchen, being sure to brush past his thigh from the counter. He was soon to follow, our bare feet pattering against the wood floors as I led him through the living room, being sure to press play on the stereo and then through to the double French doors leading onto the small balcony. Thankfully Emily and Jake had crashed for the night, but I left the doors open just in case. When Mort had stepped onto the deck, I was leaning against the ancient railing, something I did often enough when I needed to think or get fresh air, but this was the first time I had brought any man out here with me. _Maybe that means something? _I tried not to think about it, and just focused on his eyes, currents of rushing waves coming over me, those rich ebony pools of something…_god what's the word…there's a word for this. _Wanton. Amorous. Carnal, maybe. Mort Rainey and his seductive, pouty, carnal glint leaned handsomely beside me, holding his glass out over the rail and high above the street below. It was then that for the first time since I'd met him, I saw the fragility of him. This deep, disconcerted mystery writer, who had pounded out enough bad endings to make one uneasy just to be in the same room, had this fractured appearance in the city lights that the lake had not revealed. Here he was someone else entirely, a broken, weak man although he hid it well. Just not well enough for someone like me, someone who knew exactly where he was coming from despite my admittance thus far. _I know Mort. _

Before I had a chance to regain my senses, he had cocked his face into a sidelong glance and spoke, "So what's this question you wanted to ask me?" I had entirely forgotten about it, even though the inquiry was still fresh on the back burner of my mind. Asking him would be one step closer to understanding him, but did I want to yet, did I really want to know about the skeletons, about the pain just yet? _Of course, I'm a journalist that's my high. Yes…tell me all about it. _"Oh…well I just curious, you said you had been married…"

"Imprisoned, yes." I laughed before continuing, "Did you and you're wife…have kids?" If there was a nerve to hit, I felt as if I had, just stepped on it with heels and run it into the ground beneath him. The look in his eyes grew contorted, wary as if he was lost in a hellish memory he had long since buried in a box. I immediately regretted asking him, until however, he began to speak. "Almost. We almost had a baby…once." Between the thick liquid falling through my lips, the straining tenderness in Harry Connick's voice as it wafted around us, and the musky sear of Mort's throat as he spoke out on the subject at hand, I felt my heart grow weak, weak like his. "Amy, she uh…miscarried." _And now I know; now I understand it all. _"Mort, I'm really sorry." I moved my hand to rest gently on his arm, the crisp warmth of his sleeve, the pulsating muscles just below sending me over the edge, but I held to. He wasn't a particularly built or large man, but Mort Rainey had something about him, a delicate strength that wore harder on my knees than anything else. He face turned to me, eyes popping with humor and a slight grin cornering his lips. "Are you apologizing again?"

"N-no." I attempted to hide the fact, but found myself laughing at him anyway, and was glad to see he was too. The seriousness boiled over in my direction, and I could feel it coming, his turn. "Alright, let me ask you question." Part of me resisted letting him ask anything, for the fact that I was too nervous of the potential, the kind of question he could come up with, something I didn't want to answer perhaps. But then again, it was only fair. "Ok."

"I'm curious…why do the kids call you Aunt Ray?" _That's his question? I inquire about his past family, and life, and he asks why I and how I got my nickname. Oh Mort…_Wiping the hair out of my face a ways I looked up into his eyes, not sure I really wanted to tell him, but knowing it to be too simple a question not to just answer. And against my will, I did. "Ray is a nickname my grandparents gave me, a long time ago. From my middle name."

"And that is what…Raymond?" _Adorable smartass. _"Ha, very funny, but no."

"Then what?"

Here it goes, kill the bird with a boulder, just explain yourself out. "Sunshine." While my brow twisted down into delicate embarrassment, I noticed his face brighten at the word, the name. At first he said nothing, but as he registered and studied it, his lips parted. "Sunshine…Roxanne _Sunshine_ Hayden. And Ray is a combination of both…" I nodded with a brush of my hand over my lips, and then gave him full reasoning, "Before my parents became a part of Manhattan's '_elite round table'_, they were hippies, they were…actually cool people." I laughed at the very thought of my parents before all of the banquets and finery, when they wore threads and painted peace signs on their cheeks. Mort laughed at it respectfully, trying to understand it all, although I had only slightly touched on the base of my parents and my relationship with them before. He sort of got it I think. "Well I like it. _Sunshine…Ray_…it suits you."

"Well I'm glad you approve." I tilted my glass back to my lips, feeling the need for every last drop of wine there was available. He too joined me in the silence, and drank quietly, watching me though over the rim. My body was coming loosely undone with every gulp, as the liquid drained into my bloodstream, altering my ability to focus clearly on anything, happening all too quick. I wasn't drunk; I was merely dancing on the edge of temptation, playing outside a lustful fire. And when I looked back to Mort, his eyes centered down into mine, I spoke all too desperately, pleadingly. "Mort…would you do me a favor?" Immediately his glare was indifferent, almost as desperate as mine, but curious, devious. He leaned in closer to me, the heat radiating from his breath covering my sight, blinding me to him. And when he didn't respond at all, I said it, just flat out told him what I wanted, what it was I needed him to do. "Will you kiss me?"

Patience was all I could bring myself to acquire in that moment, the agony of not knowing what she needed, what I was about to be asked to do. _'Will you please leave?' 'Will you run out and buy some milk?' 'Will you get me some more wine?' What does she want? _I waited, tiredly with my eyes falling downward in haste, her chest heaving, her lips, petals of grace, every ounce of her before me. And then her breath strained to plead as her eyes went wide with shock of her own mental state, "Will you kiss me?"

* * *

I wanted to, I did. _God what I wouldn't give to taste every last inch of her. _But there was a slight problem, and I feared it could easily become a hazard. I slid my hand down the length of her arm to where her wrist met the glass, and her fingers met the stem. Weaving my fingers around it, I took the wine glass from her with a wink, "I doubt this will mix well with our bare feet." She laughed and I settled both glasses down on the ground to the side of the doors, then turned back to stand in front of her, our bodies nearly melting into one another, and eyes fixed in perfect completion, ready and willing for whatever came. "Now…" I began, bringing my hands to hold both of her cheeks gently, while my fingers coiled into the silkiness of her hair, "where was I?" Sliding my right hand back down her jaw line, I let my thumb linger over her trembling lips, before I moved down further, "Oh…yeah…" I smirked like the devil himself, before crashing upon her, letting her have me in that moment. Just as I had imagined from the first second I met her, those lips were the softest I had ever felt, the sweetest, strawberry wetness I couldn't resist. The tighter our bodies clung to each other, the more comfortable the kiss became, she wove her fingers through my hair almost playing out every last bit of my earlier thoughts, and mine went almost directly to her lower back, holding close. When I was sure she wanted it, I let my tongue dance lightly across her lips, clearing off the tangy flavor and waited for her to part them, and like heaven above she did, nearly sending me to the grave in the process. And although the desperation still hovered close, I was careful, delicate with her, I wanted to remember every last bit of it for fear it may never come again. Our tongues met slowly, greeting one another with subtle passion as I pulled her body further against me, the strain below proving itself at her weary thighs.

I had to keep control of the situation, and it pained me, but I had to be the good guy with kids around. Yet kissing seemed harmless enough, and kiss we sure as hell did, as if the sun may never rise again. I had tasted, prodded, divulged every last bit of her mouth, explored and wandered aimlessly between the strawberry tongue that had devoured me. I was as lost in her as I could feel her becoming within me, and for that reason, our invitation of audience had ever occurred to either one of us. While pressing for lack of breath, and still thoroughly enjoying one another, there was a gesture of separation from the obvious crowd. "Ahem!" "Ewww…" _Fuck. _We parted ways almost instantly, my hand lingering at her back, while hers tried to cover an embarrassed grin. _And there they stood boys and girls, Tweedle Dee and Dumb. _One with his hands to hip and a scowl of disapproval, and the other with a gaping jaw and bugged eyes. It was quite perfect actually; I felt fifteen again, that night I got caught by the cop out on St. John's Pier with a bottle of drug store wine and Katy Harris under my arm. But Katy was absolutely no Roxanne.

"Are you two going to have sex?" _Choked_, I choked on my own breath. Roxanne fell into a fit of laughter before pushing herself from the rail and my hand and walked over to the kids. I reached down to take the glasses in behind them. "No, we aren't going to have sex Jacob. You need to stop reading those magazines." _Hmm...Damn. _I have to admit, I was shot down.

"Yeah right…" He sighed looking to Roxanne, as Emily jumped in with her own questioning. "Why was Mr. Rainman's tongue on you?" The expression following the question was priceless, and if my face was turning red I hardly noticed it past the humor of the situation. The kids were as interested in their Aunt's affairs with the opposite sex as I was, maybe even more. While she assured them nothing was going on, and that we were only kissing, there was a buzz at the speaker. I watched as she went over to answer it, and a stark voice responded. "Hey it's us sweetie, are the kids awake?"

"Yeah, we'll bring them down." After she said it, I noticed she slap her forehead lightly as if it was the wrong thing to say. We. _Too cute. _Emily and Jake got their shoes on while Roxanne pulled their bags onto her shoulder and came over to me. "Umm…I just have to run them downstairs, do you want to wait up here…or go down with us maybe?"

"Sure, I'll go." Once I had smiled, we turned over to follow the kids as they bolted through the front door and to the elevator. It was a quick minute and half before all four of us had made it out to the front steps of the building, where I saw a limo parked casually at the curb. Roxanne's sister, _Sydney I think_, was dressed beautifully and caught Emily in a rampant embrace while Jake walked down to meet her fervent kiss. "Oh…" She said, looking up at me surprised but with a friendly glow, "Hi." I reached down to shake her hand, "Hi there, Sydney right?"

"Yeah, and you must be the writer."

"Well I guess I could be one of them, depending on how many Roxanne invites over here." As I winked at Sydney jokingly, we both looked over to Roxy who was rolling her eyes. And when I stepped back, the two of them drew closer to hug. "I hope they were ok…"

"Do you mean before or after Jake finished the August issue of Cosmo?"

"We had pizza!" Emily shouted into her mom's ear smiling, despite the time of night. "Oh wonderful, nutrition was always your strong point, Rox." The sister's laughed as Emily continued to ramble, finally spitting out the most glorious piece of information to have left the lips of a four year in my lifetime at least. "And Mr. Rainman sex-ted Auntie Ray!" All eyes were on the two of us now, Roxanne shuddering in guilt, and then there was me, standing awkwardly in front of her sister, who was grinning without restraint of herself. Jake finally popped in though, saving us all, or attempting to at least. "Kissing isn't sex, stupid."

When nothing was spoken but the whisper of laughter, I chimed in with a smirk. "He's got a point."

"Well…I guess it was eventful, but better get these guys home to bed. Roxanne, _and Mort_…thank you guys." As Roxanne leaned down to kiss Jake on the head, I stepped down to shake Emily's hand and noticed her reaching out towards me further. Sydney leaned in closer, letting Emily come to my cheek, and following a quick peck that nearly killed me with warmth, she whispered in my ear, very quietly, very daintily, "Bye Prince Rainman." At first I didn't give this any thought, brushing it off as a little girl being imaginative and I pulled back and smiled while Roxy kissed her goodbye. Jake high fived me and walk down to get in the limo, followed by his mom and sister, but my eyes stayed attached to Emily, to what those two words were doing to me…_Prince Rainman? Whose Prince…Roxanne's?_ Something about it made me wonder, amidst the magic of New York City, standing on the step beside the most beautiful woman I'd ever know, if maybe it was a sign. _Thank you Emily. _

* * *

Watching them pull away, I slowly tucked my hand into Mort's without his notice, and when he felt my grasp he turned with a grin. I wanted him to come back inside at that point, I wanted to know what it would be like to finish what we had started. Interruption free. Of course I didn't know if that's what he wanted or not, but I had to at least ask, the risk of never having another chance too great. "Sydney's right, thank you for helping me tonight."

"It was my pleasure, entirely. I guess you're probably exhausted from work, I should let you get some sleep." He made the move to his pocket for keys, but not before I had moved to snatch his hand back. He was wrong, I wasn't tired, I didn't need sleep. "Stay." There was battle being fought in his eyes, and although it looked as if the romantic side of him was holding control over the practical, I couldn't quite be sure. He swayed holding my hands, his boots tapping the pavement in timing for a response, but he finally looked back at me, with something to say. "Are you sure that's what you want? We don't have to rush into anything ya know."

"Mort, I've spent ten years with all the wrong people. I need a little rush in my life."

"And I'm your answer to late rebellion?" Giggling, I leaned down from the step above him and lightly brushed my lips over his, pecking tenderly. His breath was hot on my chin, my neck, and I wanted to feel it in places I couldn't describe on the street. "Please come back up?" The struggle in his legs was still there as I pouted, and I could tell he was trying to be sweet, not push the moment, but I didn't care, my need far outweighed the proper fashion of things. It wasn't just a crush or an attraction anymore, it was a pulsating throb throughout my body, begging to be released by only one person. And that was him. "God…I can't say no to that." And he didn't, instead he ran behind me through the front door of the building, up the stairs, stopping once, twice, three times to press into me at the wall, the banister, and kiss me. His tongue fell over my cheek, jaw, neck, everywhere I needed his warmth so far, and eventually we made it to the second floor again. It was a private floor so the risk of any unwarranted visitors was slim to none especially at midnight, and when he sensed this, he finally pushed me against the door of my apartment. His mouth was hard against mine, rough but with primal passion, not pain. There was heat between every inch of us as his tongue wove around mine, his slender fingers running the length of my chest, hips, legs, up and down while my back arched from the doorway. It was then that he let his hand slide to my inner thigh against my jeans, higher and higher until he reached my center, pressing his thumb and index finger difficulty into the denim. My breath caught, a short soft moan left my lips and before I realized what was happening, there was the sound of boots at the far end of the hall. _Christ…not now…_

Pulling back, but still holding firm to the back of my head, Mort and I glanced down towards the end of the staircase, where sure enough stood Tommy. His apartment was the level above, and judging by his leather jacket and skull cap, he had just gotten home from a long night out. He smirked kindly towards the both of us, and winked at me while he walked past. "Sorry to interrupt."

"It's fine, Tommy." I said laughing, "We're sorry to be blocking the uhhh…hallway." Without turning back he just shouted down from the next flight of steps, "Ah nah fugettabouit, couldn't imagine a better use for it!" Mort was rather humored, and when his lips met mine again they were warm with a tickling delight. I slid my hand down to the doorknob, pulling both of us inside, knocking a few books and magazines from the foyer table, letting my hands settle on the buttons of his dress shirt. They tugged open one at time as we moved through the apartment awkwardly and tripped over every chair, table, corner we possibly could all the way down the hall to the bedroom. We had kicked off our shoes on the way, and barreling inside we laughed as I ripped his shirt down his back, and he tried to lift mine over my head as it got stuck. "Damn things…you'd think they'd make the neck holes bigger!" He grunted and I laughed into the softness of his mouth, my skin tingling at his touch. "You swear this is what you want?"

"I swear."

_One kiss on my neck._

"Cause I don't mine just waiting."

"No waiting."

_One kiss to my earlobe._

"No waiting, ok."

_One kiss to my breast._

_One kiss to my stomach…_

"Wait." I said, catching him off guard from where his lips were pressed to the warm skin between my breasts. "I'm sorry, yes wait." "Yes wait…? Alright." He stood up clearly before me as I walked past him to the other side of the room, pacing almost, but not sure why. I did want him, there was no question, but something else kept tugging at my mind, something that left me unsure of the intentions he had. Not that I suspected he didn't care, he had shown enough care for a dozen men, and it wasn't that I thought him impartial, nothing like that at all really. But I still paced in the moonlight that dangled in through the curtains, my hand to forehead, bare feet tapping lightly to 

the wood. In all of my thinking I hadn't noticed him slide across the room to me, a breath's pace away now. "Roxanne…" I glanced over to see him, his eyes filled with that same pain from before, it made me hurt. "You can just tell me if this isn't what you want. I'm not going to be mad."

"No…no, please god, don't think that. I do, I _really _do, it's just…"

"Just what?" He asked, coming closer and turning my face in the palm of his hand. _Don't you dare cry Roxanne…you better not cry in front of him. Explain yourself and move on, but no tears. _"I don't want to mess this up. At first I wanted the rush of it but now… I might not ever get here again, with you…and I don't want to miss anything." The way he looked at me made no sense, he was sympathetic, too kind, and when I least expected him to he slowly pulled me towards him, brushing the hair from out of my eyes.

"Don't worry, you won't miss a thing. I won't let you."

"Yeah?"

**(WARNING)**

"Yeah." And that was when I knew, without saying the words out, and without telling my mind exactly what it was, I knew. _This is it for me. _From there I let him carry me, _yes carry me_, to the bed. Just as he had promised, he made sure I didn't miss a step, or a smile, or a single breath. At the edge of the bed he slowly pulled my jeans down and off of my feet to the floor, leaving me clad in black lingerie, much better than the green. My hair was a mess at this point, but it didn't make a difference compared to what I had done to his. I had seen other men standing at the foot of my bed before, tall ones, foreign ones, famous ones, but never this. It was unexplainable really, the simplicity of it, how basic a man like Mort Rainey was on the surface, compared to the universe of depth below. I still continued watching him as his jeans came off, and he crawled onto the bed over top of me, wearing only his boxers. The muscles in his upper arms were tender in the light, as he sunk his face down to mine, not saying a word, just hovering. "Sea green…" in almost a whisper he spoke while studying my eyes, and with a twisted grin I inquired about it. "You're eyes…they turn green."

"When?"

"Whenever you're happy." _I am happy. _And doing my best to prove it to him, I moved my hands to his back and arched my body into his kiss, the lips I was becoming to feel completely safe beneath. Moments passed and he allowed his lips and tongue to wander from my mouth to my neck, further yet leaving a delicate trail to my chest. His hands pulled down the straps of my bra, allowing my breasts to reveal themselves to the moonlight pouring in. Glancing up for some sort of approval, I smiled and his mouth moved in a gentle but desperate flee to the hardened peak of my breast, kissing it, weaving his tongue in circles of lust, bringing a surge to run the length of my thighs, through my knees and toes. The golden and brown wisps of his hair fell over my chest as he moved to my second breast, fondling it with as must sensitivity and savor. It was continued as he traveled down even further to place small pecks along my stomach, over my belly button and right down to the lining of black lace. "Mind if I borrow these for a while?" Laughing and rolling my eyes, I let him pull my panties down my legs and to the floor. Nothing could have put me in the mood more than watching him do all of this, he had a way about him. _How could Amy have cheated on this man? Crazy bitch…_

_

* * *

__How in the hell is this woman not married? New York City must officially be full of blind gay men. _I knew I had caught hold of something, someone whom I hardly deserved, but who only made me cherish her more in this light. Roxanne is a force I couldn't have come up with in my wildest dreams, let alone try to. And as my lips grazed the supple skin at her breasts, stomach, thighs, I knew exactly what had to be done to show her the worth I had stocked up in her name. "Mind if I borrow these for a while?" She didn't. So I slowly pulled down the black lace, leaving her bare in full glory, the most incredible thing I had ever seen. I wanted to be as gentle as I could, let her know that the ten years of bullshit she sustained had been for _something_. I didn't know her past, I didn't have any names of past lovers, or boyfriends, nothing. But I knew that right now, I was about to make love to her, and that was _something_.

_**Something in the way she moves,  
Attracts me like no other lover.  
Something in the way she woos me.  
I don't want to leave her now,  
You know I believe in how.**_

I let my warm breath drain over her body, between the moist heat growing on her inner thighs, and just over her sensitive center. My lips met the tender flesh at the top of her thigh, kissing it lightly until I had moved just over the few short curls of hair and to the other thigh, treating it with reserve and patience. She began to breathe heavily, and moan ever so lightly into the back of her throat. _41 of males…I guess I'm that one percent at the tip of the…oh god. _Concentration was wearing down when her hips slowly began to rock towards my body, her legs shaking, trembling at my touch and I knew she needed my undivided attention now. As I crashed down upon her warmth I heard a stifle of a laugh rather than the sound I had so expected. _Only Roxanne. _"You okay?"

"Never…" she tried to get it out, but had to force past the giggling, "…never been better." Once she had found peace again, with the help of a few soft kisses here and there, I returned to work, my lips meeting her opposing ones, more easy this time. Opening my eyes to look over to her, I saw the sexual torment plastered on her face, and it was worth the strain. I had managed to contort Roxanne's face into a twisted, pleasured mess, but beautiful all the same. With a last pulse of her folds at my hand and mouth, a winsome juice flowing over, I had been granted the warning to move on to greater plains of ecstasy. _I can do that. Gladly…_

_**Somewhere in her smile she knows,  
That I don't need no other lover.  
Something in her style that shows me.  
I don't want to leave her now,  
You know I believe in how.**_

I lowered her body back down to the sheets, and returned to her mouth by way of stomach, breasts, neck and cheeks. Her forehead was moist with the sweat of my job well done, and she thanked me with her strawberry tongue, no greater gift to be had. Struggling to get from my boxers to her again, she laughed at me, that intoxicatingly saccharine glee that only _Roxy Love_ can submit and she eventually helped me to throw them across the room. It drove me mad with desire, for some ungodly reason. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For reminding me what fun looks like." If she was blushing, it was impossible to make out past the dimples and sweat she had accumulated, but I move down to gently kiss the smile from her. During which, she had managed to take hold of the weight resting upon her lower region, the tight, angry bulge I had carried around since sixty thirty that evening. Trying not to break the kiss, I was battling a war with the stroking of her finger tips down below, letting it slowly encircle her heat. I gasped at first, released her mouth and looked down to her hands. And then I breathed deeply, relaxing my muscles despite the continuous inability, and re-charged instantly with the kisses she touched to each of my shoulders as she took me inside of her, unexpectedly, but rather perfectly. A slight moan escaped her to match my grunt, and it was only seconds later that I believed we both noticed how oddly wonderful our bodies fit together, molded into place without pressure or ache, just right. I moved my hand to her waist, and then leaned down once to whisper in her ear, "Don't close your eyes."

_**You're asking me will my love grow,  
I don't know, I don't know.  
You stick around now, it may show,  
I don't know, I don't know.**_

"I won't. Ever."

Signaled by the flicker of green behind the crimson glow of her eyes, I pulled away from her body, thrusting deep within again. Every bone in her shook against me, trembled uncontrollably, her legs coiled somewhere around my back, toes reaching for invisible stars. I could do nothing but push for her, drain her senses one by one, and every last piercing interjection I made was done with only her in mind. My length within, the heat coursing over skin, moisture engulfing the confines between her hips and mine, her breasts and my chest, her lips and my neck. We moved together passionately, as though we had been lovers through the decades that were scattered in the air above us, lyrics and rhythms of another time, matching the one we had subdued into. Her libido was strong, going as roughly as mine, matching the strokes I set out, bringing her back to curl into me with every passing blow I assaulted upon her. It felt like hours as we lay there together, a jigsaw of intensity, trying to urge the other into some sort of sexual revolution. Some sort of…_reality_. Through all of it the moans had been shadowed in an alternate haven of blank shielding, breathing was useless and the struggle of her fingertips in the skin just above my shoulder blades was merely a resort of confidence that it would never end. It wasn't until a single syllable was uttered clearly between us, that I knew the finality had come to terms with the tension.

"Mort."

It was spoken with clarity through the blindness as I felt her body fall beneath my touch, the longing ache of a thousand missed moments of pleasure, a million undrafted wishes. And when her heart gave way to the battle that had settled at her surface all these years, I felt my knees shatter with the coming wave of merlot induced lovemaking. Her climax had given way to mine as every muscle she owned clenched down, ripping the warm fluid out of me, without warning, without request, just taking it. _Not that I didn't want to give it freely anyway. _With a final gasp into the fervor of her neck, the tangled, wet mess of her curls and honeyed aroma that clung to my nostrils, I gave way to all of it. The anger, the frustration, the lost baby, the affair, the death, and last bit of the loneliness. Everything was gone, hidden deep inside of her forever, where I knew she would keep it safe.

_**Something in the way she knows,  
And all I have to do is think of her.  
Something in the things she shows me.  
I don't want to leave her now.  
You know I believe in how.**_

Falling over to the cool space beside her, I let my eyes wander over the ceiling high above us, it was spinning but in the best way possible. My arms found their way around her waist, pulling her to rest atop my chest. I held her there without any sign of release and fixed my breathing to the steady pace that I felt on my skin, while my hand slid haphazardly down to the warm spot just over her Aerosmith tattoo. It was a piece of her story, and for this I felt eternally grateful. I had wanted this in the cabin the night before, but I waited, and I was glad I did now. It could have never been this perfect on that couch, and it wouldn't have been warranted the same way. Now I knew exactly how she felt, two nights and a week into a friendship, a bond, a feeling. I didn't want to call it love, I didn't want to call it anything yet, disappointment was a strong point with the women who had come and gone in my life. I needed to give her the benefit of the doubt for now. As the sounds of the distant radio faded into a new harmony, I took it as a sign. The stoic belting of Steven Tyler over the space of the apartment, the kisses Roxanne placed longingly upon my chest as she drifted off into sleep, the satisfaction of the moment.

_**I could stay awake just to hear you breathing  
Watch you smile while you are sleeping  
While you're far away and dreaming  
I could spend my life in this sweet surrender  
I could stay lost in this moment forever  
When, every moment spent with you  
Is a moment I treasure**_

I didn't want close my eyes. I didn't want to fall asleep. I knew I would miss her too much if I did. And I couldn't bear to miss a single thing about this night.

* * *

**Thanks Briller, **for all the lovely comments. I'm glad you see the chemistry I'm working on there, I really wanted someone to compliment Mr. Rainey. :)

And to everyone whose recently added my story to their alerts, or are reading it, thank you thank you! I appreciate it tons!


	7. Where the Blacktop Ends

**WARNING: **This scene is going to have rather explicit themes involved, no more than the rating on the site will allow of course, but for anyone uninterested in this, I've placed a small warning near the actual part just as in the last chapter and you're more than welcome to skim over it. :)

* * *

**Chapter 7: Where the Blacktop Ends**

_38 down…romantic rendezvous. Five letters…hmm, Roxy is only four. _

I don't live in the city and I'm very rarely here, but something about having a sudden reason to be here made me want to do things, get up and take a walk, shake off all of the nervousness I had. I didn't sleep a single second, as I had planned to, and rather than wearing down on my senses, it had only made me more attentive, more jittery. Roxanne had slept long and hard, exhaustion taking its toll as she deserved for it to. Rather than wake her up and ruin a perfectly apt picture, I snuck out of the bed, got dressed and went out into the early morning grey. There was a bagel shop I had seen the night before driving in, so I headed in that direction, picking up a New York Times and a copy of the new Rolling Stone on my way. As far as bagels were concerned I didn't have a clue what she liked, so I got one of every kind they had, and two coffees. _Milk and two spoonfuls of sugar. I remembered. _

When I got back to her apartment, she was still asleep, drowsily but no less beautiful for that. It took everything in me to not lick the skin from her back as it hung open across the bed, her arm slyly draped over the side, dark hair scattered over white sheets, it was a sight. Instead I left a note in the palm of her hand with a kiss, and went back out to the kitchen to eat and attempt to use ridicule to defeat the Times. _38 down…romantic rendezvous. Five letters…damned if I know. _The more I thought about it, the more I thought about her skin, her lips, those eyes that never closed, I had been haunted through wake by those eyes. It wasn't long before I felt the coming wave of paranoia against the thigh of my jeans, that bizarre straining temptation that had grown increasingly worse since meeting her, it had now become less of a desire and more of a need; I needed to have her.

I needed to have a lifetime of…_trysts_…with her. _Tryst. That's the word._

"Fuckers."

* * *

I could have laid there forever. The combination of sweat and musky cologne wafting across every inch of the sheets, my bare skin still tingling from the kisses that had been placed nearly eight hours before, the muscles in my toes loose from strain. The only thing missing now was Mort, those two arms I had felt through the night, his wild heart beating against my shoulder, his sweet wine soaked breath, I realized it was all gone, that he was gone. My eyes forced themselves open to the light peering down from the buildings of neighboring Manhattan, and brushing the hair from my face I began to wonder if this was the side of Mort I had skipped over, the one who leaves without a single word the morning after, the one who…_leaves you a sharpie note on your hand, to assure you that he's still around and waiting for you to wake your sorry ass up and join him. _The view of my blackened palm from across the mattress was one I doused with a smile and light heart, not because it was Shakespearean, sensitive and romantic, but because it was just right.

_Breakfast or lunch? _

Well it certainly didn't take me long to respond to that, I sat up to stretch, slid from the bed and reached across the hard wood to find Mort's dress shirt from the night before and threw it on sloppily. The mirror revealed my smeared mascara and I wiped it off, fluffed my knotted mess of hair, and tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the hall. I could hear music playing low still from last night, no voices, but the faint smell of fresh bagels and the crunching noise of a newspaper. Turning the corner towards the kitchen I saw him finally, standing blankly at the counter, his back to me, as well as his adorable butt in those jeans. Being careful not to startle him I listened as he mumbled to himself.

"26 across…an expression of comfort…three letters. Shit…" Standing at the doorway I giggled inwardly at him, thinking about the response to the question myself…_an expression of comfort…comfort…kiss? No…wait. _Sliding my bare feet across the tile I met his waist with my arms, wrapping them around him snuggly as I felt the muscles in his back jump. "Three letters hmmm?" I could somehow feel his smile although I couldn't see it, and when I rested my cheek between his shoulder blades, I felt his hands move to cover mine at his lower stomach. I was warm again instantly. "How did you sleep?"

"Good."

"Are you hungry?"

"Starving." I said, squeezing him tighter and standing on my toes to reach the safe place at the nape of his neck, where the soft ends of his tangled hair met the collar of his t-shirt, kissing him. The hint was more than I believe he bargained for, but he laughed quietly and slowly turned in my grasp, his eyes burning down just above my brow. His fingertips tapped loosely at the back of his shirt, which was now technically mine, while my feet met his socks. "Bagels?"

"I love bagels."

"Oh, good cause' I bought out the shop." He was too cute, I leaned over to see the huge bag behind him, and smelled the dozens of flavors. "I didn't know what your favorite was." It was one of those things, the little things that men are known to do that break your heart. The little things no man had ever done for me. He reached out and opened the bag to me, revealing the greatest aroma and grinned, waiting for me to choose. I dug my hand in to take out a few different ones, raisin (not a fan), blueberry (not in the mood), chocolate chip (cute but no). It was the next to last in the bag as Mort stood laughing at me, and I pulled it out and to see the slight pink shade at the bottom of the bagel, I knew I had found it. "This one," I replied finally, smirking as I noticed the look on his face, almost one of profound knowledge, of mental note taking. "Strawberry. I had a feeling."

**(WARNING)**

I leaned against the counter and began to twist open my bagel to put cream cheese on it. "Really, why?" Without realizing it, Mort pushed away from the counter and moved to stand just behind me, his chest hot against me, the pressure of his jeans begging at my low back, and his hands carefully maneuvering their way between the buttons of the dress shirt, cupping my breast. Needless to say the bagel fell from my hand, and when the tips of his thumb and forefinger met the sensitivity of my nipple, rough with pleasure, I tried to hide the gasp low in my throat. "Because…you smell like strawberries, you…_taste_ like strawberries." Losing concentration quickly, I felt the tip of his tongue touch the sting at my neck, as he licked clear to the back of my ear. _Mort Rainey…Mr. Quaint, is a closet nymph. Not that I mind…_every bit of my body shivered, the growing heat too much to bear, and the thick bulge resting only one zipper away pressing harder into my back.

"Can I uh, help you Mr. Rainey?"

I could feel the wickedness of his grin against my shoulder, "God…I hope so," and from there knew exactly what was needed, and I of course was more than willing to oblige. _To help him out. After all, I did still owe him. _"Well…" I began, turning around to see the lust coursing through his eyes, "I guess I can pay back my debt." He laughed, while I ran my hands down to the button of his jeans, "Is that right?"

"Yeah. Besides…" Leaning in I whispered into his ear, "I need to find out what your flavor is." His breath quickened deeply against my neck as I kissed along his jaw, and lifted and tugged at his shirt. Once it was over his head and thrown to the floor, I wandered south, _tasting_ every inch of him from neck to navel, my tongue, lips, mouth leaving him a hopeless mess. I watched his eyes roll back into his head while his teeth caught his lip tightly to avoid any unnecessary sounds from escaping, although I wouldn't have cared one bit. Kneeling on the tile I slowly unbuttoned and zipped his jeans, leaving a trail of kisses on the soft hair between his lower gut and pleading bulge, and sensing the shudder in his body with every move I made to it. Mort had never been so inviting a specimen as when he was bowing to the will of a woman's lips, of my lips, and it killed me. I pulled his pants down slowly, using every seductive motive I could spare, and let them rest at his knees, while my mouth moved ever so gently over him, which as I had already known, was rather impressive. In the light of the kitchen, the daytime, he was glorious, so indifferent to what the darkness had done for his spirit. Carefully, I let my palm wander up and down, with a guttural expression leaving his lips. His hands had found the counter for support, while his head hung low, eyes piercing closed for redemption, but I tried to bring him to me, "Mort…?" Shooting his eyes open to mine, I saw a slight hint of a smirk when he responded. "Ahh…yeah?"

"I just wanted to see your eyes." When I smiled, he returned gladly with his hand soft against my cheek, as if he was prepared to watch his world rock between sanity and pure release, and when I moved in with my tongue, I felt the universe pummel into oblivion beneath my knees. His eyes were shut again, as if looking into mine in that moment was too heady a toxin, too much to withstand at the jolt of his need against my lips. While I tried to experience the taste, the musk of him, I felt his wiry fingers waver through my hair, gently tugging as if to beckon me further, and so I followed the silent request, letting my lips move over, taking him to me. The groan that flourished from deep in his stomach, lolled in the air, giving me every incentive to continue, weaken him with the heat of my mouth. _Oh Mort…poor melted mess of a man._ Stifling back the need to laugh, I continued, letting my lips purse to the head and back a number of uncountable times, my eyes on his crooked brow through his pleasure. His fingers twirled in my hair, leading my mouth back and forth at the pace, the intensity he seemed to prefer, hardening with each passing strike, which was enough for me. The throaty moans and grunts he produced drove me nearly as mad as I had to him, I wanted to give him the world in that moment, and I wanted to give Mort everything that Amy had taken away. Because if anyone deserved it, he did.

When I felt his body tense and tingle at my touch, I began to slow calm against him, allowing my tongue to return to discovering his taste as a thick, poignant wave rushed deep within my mouth. It burned like vinegar, and quickly fell to a spiced, tart cinnamon sensation, _cinnamon. _And then I knew. His body wavered slightly as I returned up his body to his lips. I knew I had done well, pleased him as I had wished to, his tongue driving roughly into my mouth, taking with it his own zest and everything in between. We stayed tangled within each other for longer than I had expected, longer than I could stand without losing my sight, sense of touch, sense of preservation. And when we finally parted, it was the glowing look of contentment plastered on every inch of his face, in his poetic smile, his adventurous glare, that told me what I had wanted to know. I patted his chest gently and waited as he pulled his jeans back and buttoned them, and then I replied meekly, as if to allow him to question it,

"Cinnamon."

"Huh?"

"Cinnamon, _you _taste like _cinnamon. _Like…Christmas, and nutmeg, and everything warm." When my declaration had been made, he grinned happily and then quickly took me into his arms, not to ravish me passionately, not to show me what else he could do with himself upon my body, but just to hug me. I didn't know if it was something I said, or what I had done for him, or even if he was just doing it for _me_, but what I do know, is that I've never been hugged like that. Not by anyone in my family, not by any friends, or any lovers, it was an embrace completely genuine to Mort, completely _warm and safe_, just like him.

_God don't let this end. Don't take this one away from me. An expression of comfort…three letters…hug. _

While I was caught up in the tender amnesty of his arms, he kissed me gently on the top of my head. And just when I thought he was about to whisper sweet connotations in my ear, speak to me of senseless desire and ecstasies, he just asked, "Do you have to work today?"

"Nope, I'm off for two weeks."

"Are you staying in the city?" Of course I wasn't staying in the city, I hated it here. The traffic, and noise, and constant need to show face somewhere or other. I needed reclusiveness, I needed solidarity, I needed to go incognito. But I wanted to make lover boy sweat a little, I liked when he curled his brow into confusion. "I guess it depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you think you can help entertain me for two weeks, or not?"

"You mean like…fishing right?" I laughed and kissed his cheek, "Yeah…like fishing."

"I think can do that."

_A kiss on his neck._

"Good. Then I guess I should go pack huh?"

"I guess so. And don't forget that little black bikini…"

_A kiss on his chest._

"You like that."

"I love that."

_A kiss to his hungry lips._

"Fair enough. I'll be right back." Skipping past him I felt his hand lightly swoop out and smack my still bare ass under his shirt, and when I turned with my jaw dropped, he winked. And that was the second side to Mort Rainey I had come to know, the playful, energetic, cool side. I was still waiting for the bad side to reveal itself, I knew it was buried in there somewhere, they were always buried, always hidden from me, and eventually, his would come. For now though, safe, goofy Mort was perfectly fine.

* * *

I didn't know whether to be entirely pleased with her or kill her with my lips for nearly doing me in. There was youthfulness to Roxanne that I had longed for, that I had needed to bring myself back to. Thirty six wasn't old, thirty six was still prime, it was the perfect age for life's greatest moments, and apparently greatest loves. As much as I had sworn to myself that no woman would ever take the fun out of me, that no marriage or settlement would run me into the ground, I had missed the aim and taken the fall. But now, with Amy lingering off somewhere in the past, her memory only a meek addition to my thoughts, I was being brought back from the dead myself, just as I had thought. Without even trying to Roxanne was allowing me to be who I was, she was forcing me into the burn of a thousand lighters and equalizing bass, tempting me to take a walk on the side of the rope I had been hanging from for ten years. So yes, I was pleased, satisfied with what had happened in her kitchen. So pleased in fact, that I convinced her to leave her car in the city and let me drive her back up to the lake, for the simply because I didn't want to be away from her for even an hour. And she agreed.

We took the highway out of Brooklyn, got stuck in traffic on the bridge and eventually found ourselves back in the middle of nowhere, under the shade of the tree lined roads and smell of nearing fresh water. In a habit of comfort she let her legs wander to the dashboard, the candy cabaret of her nails, honeyed radiance of the mile long legs, and those curls dancing at her shoulders, neck, breasts, all the places I could still taste on my tongue. With the windows down and the radio turned on full blast, I felt that symphony of the past rattle over me again, beers on the dock, the local rock station tuned in, the kiss of a girl I had dreamed of, it was all coming back. And I welcomed it, as I did her hand on my knee, warmly, enticingly. _This woman will be the end of me…if I have any say in it. _Her fingers tapped crazily on my jeans, following the beat her head was dancing at, a song, lyrics I didn't know but loved already. _Interesting…irony maybe? NO._

"What do you think?!" She yelled over the tunes, as I moved my hand in to turn it down slightly, smiling. "I like it. Sounds…familiar."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Sounds like, my senior year of high school. Like the summer before college."

"Good summer huh?" Her suggestive manner seized the glory in me, as I winked and turned back to focus on the road. The pavement was slowly transferring itself into gravel; the path along the back of the lake was dark, with only short spirits of light peeking in through the trees above. Her hand, fingertips still teased at the worn denim on my jeans as she slid over further in the seat to reach my shoulder, resting her chin on it and breathing into my ear. "Mr. Rainey…?" I coughed back the need, the want to pull the car over and responded. "Yes?"

"Did you used to be…_bad?" _

The question was merely coincidence compared to the thoughts I was having, every drop of lust in her voice overwhelming the truth of the conversation. I let her warm lips scratch the surface of my neck, while her hand moved to that desired location she had already brought back to life once this morning, and in the back of my throat, I believe I swallowed my own tongue. "Did you…do…_bad things_?" I wanted to scream, confess every mistake I'd ever made, everything I wasn't sure I even did at times, I wanted her to know it all. But I knew it wasn't the time, I knew this was merely seduction playing out, and that in order to guarantee the flame's gestation, I would have to work with fire in return. "What kind of bad things?"

"You know…" Before I could stop to clear my head, or stake control of the wheel, or even ask her to sit back down, she had managed to slide her hand between my warm stomach and the buttons of my jeans, inching further, further…_oh shit. _Her tongue lapped playfully at the back of my ear, while her nails scratched lightly against the growing thickness below. "…_bad…things_."

"Ugh…err…oh, um _yeah._"

"That's what I thought." The stroking and fondling continued, as I slowly felt my fingers leave their grip on the wheel of the car, the dashboard and hood becoming a blur against the black soot of the dirt road, the greens and yellows of distant, hanging foliage, all of it too far gone from the reality I was facing between fingers and thighs. "I want you…to do bad things to me."

"Ah O-ok."

"All…summer…_lon-"_

"Fuck!!" The truth rendered itself like a bullet to my skull, when my eyelids waver opened long enough to see the blur of red among the forest greens, the short image of something on the road, something in the way of us. The wheel spun wildly beneath my hold, while Roxanne fell back towards the opposite side of the car, her head slamming against the door and the tires grinding on gravel, dirt, twigs… "Jesus!" Everything halted abruptly, the back end of the Jeep barely touching the trunk of a close tree, and the dust settling on the hood. Turning to wipe the hair out of my eyes, I saw Roxanne struggling to sit back straight, and leaned over to help her as I noticed her rubbing the back of her head. "God, are you alright? Hey…look at me." I lifted her chin to see the fear in her eyes boiling over, and then turned her head to feel against the back where her hand was. "I hit it hard."

"I'm sorry Rox…shit there was something in the road." Looking through the back window of the car I could just make out through squinting, someone walking. _Jesus, not again. _I kissed her forehead and told her to wait in the car for a second, then jumped out to walk around the back, my eyes instantly landing on the red I had seen, that consistent blur. It was the same moron who had walked out in front of me driving into town the night before, red coat, walking stick, stammering limp. "Hey! You!" I called, running off towards him, while he quickly picked up a strong pace and darted away from me. "What the fuck! Are you alright?!" Nothing, and his bad leg seemed to heal enough for him to sprint away. From back at the car I heard Roxanne yell after me, "Mort!" Letting my gaze fall from the mystery hitchhiker again, I saw her, leaning against the back of the Jeep, her hand still pressed to the back of her head drowsily, and I jogged back. This time though, when my hand moved to meet hers over the increasing bruise, inflamed, it took with it a smear of blood. "Oh god, let's get you home, you're bleeding." Lending her the same white dress shirt she had worn through the morning, she kept it pressed tightly as I drove, as fast and nervously as I could think to. Whoever the hell kept trying to run me off the road had succeeded a second time, only problem now was, he wasn't just endangering me anymore.

* * *

Hope the language and mature themes were'nt too cliche or rough. Let me know! :)


	8. Past and Pending

**New Chapter up.** A big thank you to all my new readers and reviewers, I appreciate it greatly and hope to do the rest of the story justice as you continue to read on. A **warning **for this chapter as well I'm afraid lol...not that sex is scary or anything, but for those who aren't too keen on certain descriptions.** Chapter 9** will be a bit of a tease, but a slightly descriptive one as well. Just an added warning for anyone interested.

Hope you all enjoy though :)

* * *

**Chapter 8: Past and Pending**

(Two weeks later)

Everything was what I wanted it to be, my grandparents house was slowly but surely coming into its original beauty with some extra help from Mort. We had painted nearly every room, resurfaced the wood floors, gotten new light fixtures, and even done some gardening that had long since been overdue. He was amazing, always willing to do anything I asked, or needed assistance with. Of course it wasn't all work; we'd spent a good part of the two weeks taking walks around the lake, and swimming off the dock, a trip out on Mort's boat, fishing, everything I had hoped for. And it was becoming fast apparent that the two of us had formed our bond, our link, whatever it was, that unmentioned tie that binds two people mutually, and I couldn't have asked for more than that.

I woke up early to a scratchy old record playing forgotten French ballads of my childhood, an odd sound my grandmother loved, Edith Piaf. It was rather peaceful, and instead of jumping up to eat or shower, I stretched weakly under the sheets and watched the wind patter on the high sentry window of the room. There was still a list of things that had to be done to restore the property, cleaning, molding, a new banister for the staircase, new carpeting in the parlor, a white wash of the stone fireplaces in every room, too much to even debate in my relaxation, so I let my eyes waver back, and pulled the cool sheets over my head. This though was broke suddenly by the ring of a mid day phone call, the house phone nonetheless which meant it could only be one of two people, and I took my chances. Hopping from the bed I tore across the floor and lifted the phone from its ancient receiver, smiling at the voice that returned. _Safe…_

"Mort, you're up early."

"Is three-thirty early compared to Manhattan?" He laughed gently while I turned around to see the alarm clock, three thirty indeed. "No…I guess I slept in. What's up?"

"Well…I was thinking about that corner in your parlor that you said needed to be filled."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh, I've got this old armoire that belonged to my aunt up in the attic, just collecting dust. I thought you could use it." I hesitated at the kindness, but the kindness of a family heirloom perhaps, which made me feel uneasy. While I thought about it, I heard him crunching on something in the background, the flush of a toilet, and before I responded I found myself laughing. "I'd hate to take something so important."

"If it was important do you think it would be up there?" Again with a chuckle I smiled and moved to the bathroom to brush my teeth while he went on about it. "It's pretty old, Civil War era maybe, I'm not real sure. You've heard of the Rainey pioneers I presume…carried it through the western plains…Mississippi River, you know the drill." I spit out my toothpaste barely able to breath, and stopped him from continuing with his nonsense. "I guess the only way I can get you to shut up about the thing is to come over and see for myself?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"Well I do tend to bite sometimes."

"I'll take my chances." With the near desperation in his voice, I agreed and told him to have coffee waiting when I got there and then hung up to get dressed. It was getting cooler outside everyday as fall approached so I threw on a pair of old jeans and my NYU sweatshirt for odds, then found my Converse and decided to walk over. Somewhere between the driveway and the north end of the lake where Mort's property met mine, I ran into Lucas, the son of the high school's football coach. He was a nice kid although I'd only met him one since my coming back to Tashmore, his father had been a good friend of my father's as well as my grandparents and he was in good spirits to see me again.

"Roxanne, how are you?"

"I'm good, just heading over to Mr. Rainey's house." He hesitated at this, but I paid it only to the breeze in the air and his struggle to keep his books from falling to the dirt. Varsity football captain with a handful of science books...that was Tashmore for you. "Mr. Rainey…you two are friends?"

"Sort of, yeah. So how's school going?"

"Good, just trying to get applications done for college. NYU…" He pointed to my sweatshirt with a gleam in his eye, "I'm hoping to go there next fall."

"Well in that case, let me know if you need a recommendation."

"Really, wow that would be great, thanks. I guess I should be getting home, but it was nice to see you again."

"You too, bye Lucas!" I noticed him fidget and glance towards Mort's house before turning back onto the path around the lake, something odd in his stammer and pace, but nothing I could discern at the time and so I continued walking myself until I made it to the porch. His front door was hanging wide open and before I could get through the screen door Riley came bolting out to make a greeting in height, licking my face. "Hey buddy! You smell so good…did somebody finally decide to give you a bath?" Petting him and walking inside with a slight knock at the door, I noticed that there was coffee wafting in the open air, and that Mort was nowhere nearby. I had never noticed an attic door from the living room of his cabin before, and wondered if it might have been in the bedroom. Riley went to lay on the couch and so I went upstairs, looking around the loft quickly, and then taking a step inside the bedroom, the sheets still messy from the previous night, making me laugh slightly, and a ladder hanging wide at the right side of the bed near his closet. And as I had imagined it would, it led towards a beaming light at the roof level, an attic. "Mort? You up there?" No answer.

I stepped carefully onto the ladder, holding my balance while I followed it upwards, ten steps or so until I could poke my head inside. It was mostly dark, with a flashlight holding the rays of the brightness I noticed from below. I pushed myself up finally into the space, which was larger than I could have pictured, open but full of boxes, old chests. Once I caught a safe landing for my feet I walked around through the piles of dusty sheets and storage, still not seeing him, but instead almost instantly feeling tightness around my left wrist, and a tug of my body back to the adjacent wall. In the grey light of a small window I saw his eyes come towards mine as the roughness of his muscles touched to mine, bones, the stiff pressure of his jeans. I laughed when he smiled. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to go inside a stranger's house?" _God, this was the mysterious Mort I liked. It had me undone…_

"Maybe I like danger…" I could feel his muscles growing tauter with each syllable that left my lips, and before I could manage to at least make a conclusion, or offer to see the furniture, I felt my mouth quiver against his, hard, raw, unnatural. This wasn't the sensitive Mort I had seen over the last few weeks, this was the Mort that wanted to be bad, the one I was hoping I could see soon enough. His tongue left pink marks across the inside of my lips, my cheeks, jaw, neck as far as he could reach to my sweater, as much as he could taste. The warmth of his hands explored the weightless skin beneath it; my breasts bear to the wool lining and his fingers. I pulled him closer, deeper, as if I would never have him this way again, and let him drag the life out of me, leaving my lips numb with pleasure, my thighs wet with anxiety. He ripped my sweater from my head quickly, my hands to the back of his shirt to do the same, and we both struggled with the zippers and buttons of worn jeans, until finally managing to fall against a pile of stacked boxes, then to the wood floor and an old sheet. "I didn't plan on that."

"I'll pretend I didn't notice," I said with a wink and ran my fingers through his hair, dragging his lips back down to mine. His concentration was weary while he struggled to get my jeans down to my ankles and I could only laugh and help him loose of his bulge, swiftly, suddenly. The only gentility to his routine was the way he held the back of my head from the floor realizing it to be less than comfortable, while my arms were draped across his shoulder pulling him in further and closer with every thrust his hips made. His hair was soft against my cheeks and forehead, clean, fresh and now slowly becoming soiled with the sweat of sin and frantic wishing. By comparison, my body shook violently with his force, my legs woven somewhere at the back of his knees, toes curled into denim, "Roxanne...," the grunts of his passion nearly breaking my release, letting me fall into a sea of whatever was necessary. Mort's pulsating was still strong, but steady and slowing to a linger inside of me, a withdrawal as my senses failed, and everything slowly found its proper release. Mort fell weakly to the sheet beside me, his chest rising and falling in a cornered view of my eye as I laid straining for breath. I didn't want to move or think, maybe just laugh, maybe just sigh.

There was no time to decide when I suddenly felt him lift my hand into his and draw my palm against his lips, kissing it lightly twice before settling it back down to the floor, his fingers still attached. "I didn't mean to be so rough…I just had kind of a bad morning, I'm sorry." I wouldn't let him apologize because it had been enjoyable for me to see him so wild and out of his element for once, that crazy hair and tight strain playing against the secluded, sensitive writer ensemble he usually wore. I rolled onto his chest; my hands playing with the loose strands of darkly rooted locks, and kissed his chest, "Don't be sorry. It was fun, it was…" I stopped quickly, my fingers still tied into his hair, but my eyes scanning from his neck to the floor just behind him, an old photograph and a number of scattered papers from the boxes that had fallen in our act. "It was just what?" I stretched my arm out past his head to grab the photo and a few of the papers, and sat up just beside him, my legs tangled in his and the sheet covering my bare skin. "What are these…this picture's so old…" Mort sat up too and glanced down at it, but said nothing more in response, and so I looked up for more information, curious. "More family stuff…?"

"Uhh, yeah. Old stuff I saved…" His eyes were strange, not hidden, but with a nervous pull towards another subject, so I scanned over the papers in my hand again, seeing numbers and details, but a name that stuck out, _Benjamin Miller_. I wondered immediately if it was the same man in the photograph, a younger boy of at least eighteen or so, a starch black and white of a forgotten time. "Benjamin Miller…who's he?"

"A cousin, he's dead." The answer was quick, so I took it as a soft place and truth he didn't wish to discuss, and laid the papers down, leaning over to get my jeans while he stood to dress. Mort handed me my sweater and helped me up, and then back down from the attic after showing off the armoire. It was beautiful, and although I felt odd taking something that belonged to his mother, I agreed it would look perfect with the décor and was able to finally coax a smile from him.

* * *

Her interest in those papers left me unnerved, but I offered her the coffee I had made and we went back downstairs, hand in hand. The boxes in the attic were in the attic for a reason, and sometimes even I wasn't sure why, best kept under the dust and sheets. _"Are you sure Amy's the only one who knew…?"_

_**Yes.**_

"_Sure she didn't tell Ted?"_

_**Doesn't matter, he's dead too.**_

"_You sure Teddy didn't tell-"_

_**Shut the fuck up!**_

I stopped abruptly at the counter, watching Roxanne pour coffee into two of the mugs in the sink, and smiled at the girl I had found, the true mirror of beauty laid out before me. _I'm one lucky bastard…_

"_Only if no one knows, Morty."_

_**Who would know?**_

"_Think about it…" _I didn't want to think about it, any of it, and I couldn't understand why it was all coming back, now, at the worst possible time. Here I was with a woman who cared, someone I was ready to make happy, to care for, and the shit was boiling up again, it was all filtering back in.

"_Wait Mort…I need to ask you something…" _It wasn't my voice that time; it was someone else, a woman, a memory. But from where…? _"This guy Shooter, his story, I mean this situation…is it like the other time?" _Amy, it was Amy, but why and for what purpose did Amy's voice serve now. _Amy's dead…_

_Never happened before or since. Never…never…not before and certainly not since. Right?_

"Mort?" Amy again, _no. _I looked up to see a warm fog surrounding my eyes where a coffee mug was settled in the air, attached to a small hand, which led to the shoulders, neck, chin and face of someone who wasn't Amy. _Roxanne. Thank god. _"Thanks." I said, taking the cup and waiting for her to sit down at the table, which she did. For some reason I felt the need to reassure my mind of some kind of normalcy, drain the thoughts, the voices, sounds, bickering memories, get rid of it all for the day. I walked to the window behind the kitchen table, looking out on the lake, crystalline and friendly even in the cool September breeze. "Mort you ok?"

"Huh?" My startled brow landed on her eyes, which were perplexed by however I was acting, and I settled her mind quickly, "Yeah, I'm great. What do you say…take the boat out for the afternoon?" Her smile radiated light, and I knew it was a good plan for the both of us, a break from all of the house repairs, and a break for my mind. "I'd like that."

"Cool."

* * *

A few rolls to the cuff of my jeans and my toes were dangling at the surface of the cool green water of the lake, a couple of trout streaming by, a dragonfly or two at the tall grass. I was waiting for Mort to row the boat over from the back of the house to the front, and he was taking forever, not that I cared, I would just as soon opt for the view and the coming pinks and purples of the late day. _I take that back…of course I want him. _After a few more minutes of counting ants on the dock beneath my hands, I saw him come around the corner from the underbrush, the worn out blue oars and stained boat struggling against the current and a few seconds later he rowed up and I jumped in. It was then I realized what had taken so long, he had managed to sneak in a bottle of wine and sandwiches, and when he saw my face he simply smiled and replied, "Sex makes me hungry."

"For peanut butter sandwiches and white wine?"

"For whatever's in the fridge."

"You need a wife, Mr. Rainey." I hadn't meant to say it and I think he knew, because instead of being mean about it he just chuckled and began rowing again, out towards the middle of the lake. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded…"

"Sure you did," he kept laughing, with a stroke back and forth as we came out further into the last bit of sunlight, "You meant that I need a wife to make sure I get all the peanut butter sandwiches I want, after I can get all the sex I want. Right?" When I got the wink and glow in his eye, I moved closer to him, finding a comfortable spot on the floor of the boat between his knees. My arms rested at his thighs as he continued rowing further and further, the back of my head at his stomach, eyes closed to the warmth of the sun, just listening to the beat of his heart at a distance. And when he began talking again, I conversed through a deep relaxation, "So when do you have to go back to the city again?"

"Tomorrow, for a few days."

"Ah." The response was simple, as if he was disappointed greatly in my leaving, but he knew my schedule was lenient, and that I would be right back here as soon as I could. Just to remind him though, I turned around between his legs and smiled upwards, "Don't worry, I'll be back Thursday."

"Thursday…I like Thursdays."

"Good." Leaning further up, I rested against his knees and let my tongue tickle at his lips longingly. "In that case guess what?" He responded with a short, raspy whisper of a huh, and opened his mouth to mine. "I'm all yours tonight…" my breath piercing his quickly, with a flick of my tongue at his lower lip. "…but," before I let him get too excited, I jumped up from my knees to stand in the boat wobbly, trying to keep a balance. He watched nervously, but still with a laugh, "What the hell are you doing?"

"You've gotta catch me first," I yelled, tearing my sweater off and standing bare breasted at the edge of the boat grinning, and dove in head first.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?" She wavered back and forth trying to get a grasp with her toes, my eyes darting from the water to her legs, and then up to her chest as she lifted her sweater to reveal her breasts in the setting sun, a sight too perfect to be fair to any man, especially me. But I took it for what it was worth and chuckled slightly before I realized what she was doing, "You've gotta catch me first!" A second later her slender body went head first into the green water, gone, just all of it, the beauty of it gone. "Shit!" I tossed the oars back inside the boat and leaned over on my knees, hoping for a glimpse of something, but there was none, only a fish and the rock of the ripples she had created. "Damn…" I stood up and tossed my coat off to the side, glancing into the water once more and then quickly dove in after her. The water consumed me, my eyes barely after to hold the view underneath, but I pushed for a glimpse of anything, her brown hair, her jeans, or breasts, something. I swam deeper, the lake at least a good fifteen feet in this spot, searching for something through the murkiness, a few fish, and the water becoming darker and darker. _Come on Roxanne…_

_-o-_

I had sunk a good ten feet or so with the dive, leaving Mort somewhere high above contemplating his next move, and as I kept swimming downward and away, my skin got colder, weaker. I finally stopped forcing my body down and merely floated within the dark green, rocking and staring back up at the faint light of the surface, waiting for something. When I finally saw the water break again, a rush of bubbles and movement, I darted back up, or so I thought. I glanced down but could hardly make out anything past my neck in the darkness, my breath becoming more desperate for air, and only felt a struggle at the ankle of my jeans, a difficult jerk as I tried to swim higher but got nowhere. I was stuck. _Shit, no. _My body curled down to where my jeans were hung up, my hand revealing something large, a metal box possibly and the denim was wound around a piece jetting out from the rest. I tugged anxiously, holding all the air I could at the back of my throat, darting glances from my foot to the surface again and again, still seeing no sign of Mort. _Oh god no…help me…_

-o-

Struggling to see through the black liquid, I managed to keep swimming with breath tight in my lungs, until I saw a quick movement a few feet down from me, and darted to meet it. Long hair was flowing in the water, arms flailing desperately when I saw her finally, and when I was able to get close enough to see her face I noticed the fear contained in her eyes, and the tug she was making at her jeans. They were stuck on something, and I moved my hand down to her ankle gripping the loose and ripping denim, pulling as hard as she had if not more so, but it only slowly tore further. Coming back to her face I noticed even with my bad sight her eyes begin to loll back, her body begin to fall limb and as quickly as I could I moved my lips to hers, breathing what air I had left between hers, and swimming back down to yank at her jeans again, finally reaching a point of break from the metal it was wrapped around. My teeth gritted together as I pulled, forced with everything I had, my own lungs beginning to dry sourly…

-o-

Even though I barely had the ability to move or think, I relished in the softness of his lips against mine, the air he had given me, the sweetness of it in that moment, when my eyes darted back open fully and I watched him continue to help me anyway he could manage. I looked around, trying to decide what was going to happen, trying to think about anything else, then no sooner had I felt a strong rip at the end of my pants, that my eyes fell into a gruesome light, a strange darkness in front of me, and a another set of eyes, jaded and rotten with sickness and turmoil. They weren't Mort's eyes; they were lifeless, angry, gone from this world. I tried to scream but nothing came out, I tried to swim away and only could once Mort had tugged hard enough to finally get me loose, and his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me away to safety. But before I felt the surface between water and air break between us, my eyes fell back again to darkness. _Those eyes…_they would haunt me.

* * *


	9. Take A Breath

**Chapter 9: Take a Breath**

The surface broke back for us, water rippling and coiling as I carefully lifted Roxanne up and into the boat again, with it rocking, and finally taking a still long enough to allow me access as well. My jeans were practically falling off my ass from the swim, boxers of god knows what color hanging out for all of the many of neighbors to see. _Not so much. _But I ignored all of this once I could sit up straight and crawl to where she was, noticing now for the first time in minutes that her eyes were closed, her chest wasn't moving, bare as it was, beautiful as it was, it was motionless. "Fuck! No!" I pressed my ear next to her lips, nothing. To her heart, nothing. Tried to move her arms, tilted her face in my hands, but still she lay there waiting for me to perform some miracle on her, give her air again. CPR isn't something us murder novelists are required to have on our transcripts, so needless to say I didn't have a clue, but she was all I had and so I at least gave it my best shot. In between screaming her name of course.

"Roxanne! Look at me, wake up!"

_2 thick breaths at her lips. _

_A slew of compressions between her breasts. _

"Come on…come on!"

_3 breaths. _

_Countless chest thrusts. _

"Fuck fuck fuck…no!"

_One last steady breath…_

Before I could settle on yelling in horror, or even contemplate crying over her body, I felt a short spasm underneath me, and then something I never imagined actually being satisfied by from any woman, a rush of warm, sour lake water lunging at my lips from the back of her throat. _Lovely…_I pulled back to see her eyes slowly drifting open into the purple haze, her hand trembling wickedly against mine, legs shaking without control, and she immediately jolted upright and into my arms. "Oh thank god…are you ok?!" My fingers wandered through the wet curls against her neck and back, planting kisses on every visible piece of her head beneath my jaw, and held her as tightly as I could, attempting to ward off her shivering skin. Due to the already soaked nature of mine however, I never felt the liquid falling from her eyes, not until I had the un-pleasurable experience of hearing it, what I feared most.

"M-Mort…" It was a short mumble that preceded and followed a choking noise in her gut, but I knew it was no choke. As her skin began to tremble more fiercely against me, I reached out behind her and grabbed the sweatshirt she discarded earlier, pulling it down over her head and helping tug her arms through. "Better?"

"Y-yes." When she didn't smile or laugh, I just pressed my lips warmly to her forehead and wrapped my arms around her again, pulling her down onto my lap.

"Jesus Rox…I was so scared you dr-…you scared the shit out of me!"

"I'm s-sorry…I didn't m-mean to."

"I know, it's just…god!" I pulled her face back softly from mine, looking down into her eyes, sodden with tears, burning and red. "Are you alright?"

"Mort…"

"What?"

"I s-saw something." The burning turned to fear, stricken with it in fact, and I knew this wasn't just about her lungs anymore, it was something else entirely. "You saw something where? Down there?"

"Yes." I waited, knowing it would come as soon as she could get her bearings, while her fingertips dug deeper into my arms, her thighs shook roughly on mine and her lips quivered, "Eyes…I s-saw…_eyes_, down _there_." Not what I was expecting, but when her hand moved to point just past my shoulder, I couldn't help but to follow the gesture to where it marked the now blackened water, a moon and stars beginning to lightly glitter its surface. While my attention was focused on the water for a period of study, contemplation, I hadn't noticed her eyes straining for rest, and only felt the drop of her heavy head onto my chest again, her breath steady and peaceful though. I had to get her to a bed, mine or hers it didn't matter, just somewhere else. The oars couldn't stroke fast enough…

* * *

Shadows, darkness…it's all I could see. There was a thick fog staining my eyes, preventing imagery, holding back the view of what I could only seem to hear. _Mr. Rainey…did you used to be…bad…_

_Bad…_

_Bad……_

Still nothing but the sound of my voice, echoed in a pitched black, and then evenly flowing into a strange white topiary, a magnet drawing me nearer. _Did you used to do…bad things…?_

_Bad…bad…things?_

I couldn't hear him, Mort wasn't there, it was only me in a sea of rushing blankness, stretching out with invisible limbs for the darkness again, color, hue, reason. And just as I reached out far enough, or so I believed, I felt my feet dangle in thin air, my toes dip down through the white and meet the rushing cool of blues and greens, waves, a torrent of bubbling foam scattered on a wet surface. _You know…_there I was still, my voice, and I was falling now, dropping fast through the blue, a wetness soaking me, drenching me in a burning cool…_bad…things…_

Nearly as soon as the final syllable had covered me, I saw them, the eyes I had so feared, holding yet a wicked pale streak, a tiresome morbidity, as though they had spent a great deal of time waiting for someone to find them. This time I didn't scream, I didn't struggle or attempt to swim back to the surface, I merely drifted in the blue watching them, the eyes. They were speaking to me without words, trying to tell me something, a story, an answer to the question I wanted. I couldn't comprehend, but the echoing of my own words continued on weakly in a distance beneath the darkness at my feet, _bad things…I want you…to do bad things to me…did you used to be bad…Mr. Rainey?_

_**YES…YESSSS…**_It was a growl, thick and sweeping, and with one last glance at the devilish eyes I felt my body drift back upwards in a current of bubbling water and speed. And when I again found the surface, it was no longer white or black; it was red, soft, sweet smelling, and familiar. It was the Egyptian cotton pillowcase I had picked out diligently, it was my bed, it was the neon flash of my alarm clock at an equalizing distance from my eyes…**2:26 am. **

It was a dream.

I didn't remember how I had gotten here, how I had managed to get back from the lake, the water, the eyes, all of it in some grey haze of lost memory. The only thing and the final thing I could recall was Mort's arm, tangled and safe around me waist, pulling me up, up, higher and higher until…it all went away. He wasn't lying beside me; the sheets were cool from the space beneath my knee and outward. There was only a quiet light in the room, draping out from under the doorway, and music from somewhere below my room, draining, plaguing the air with a downy rhythm of jazz and blues, a piano key being stroked, a silence surrounding the din. I moved slowly, sitting up, and realizing I was dressed warmly, not bare breasted and in clinging jeans, but a sweatshirt and a pair of my old flannel PJ bottoms. _Did he dress me? I can't even remember. _Making my way through the bedroom I stumped my toe on the dresser, shrieking in pain, and biting my lower lip for pressure as I reached out for my glasses. _Fucking thing…_I slid them over my nose and finally opened the door, the light sinking inside and all around me, but still at a distance downstairs, three flights into the plummet of the house. I looked over the upper rail to catch a quick glimpse, the grand spiraling staircase my grandfather had built all those decades ago still holding strong at the center of the house, a fair view into the front hall, my gram's eighteenth century rug, a table or two, but no sign of life. _Did Mort seriously carry me up this high…three damn stories? Shit…_

I took the steps doubled, holding onto the rail, and sprinting barefoot between hardwood and antique carpeting. Once to the tile of the first floor I looked around, to the front doors, to the kitchen hall, to the dining room, still nothing but the cool air, and Norah's piano. I hummed along to the tune, reciting the words inside my head as I searched out the man I knew was somewhere nearby, hiding out, asleep on the couch, probably halfway through my stash of Seinfeld DVD's…_he's somewhere_…

_I need no soft lights…to enchant me_

_If you…would only grant me…_

_The right…to hold you ever…so tight_

_And to feel…in the night…_

_The nearness of you._

Turning the corner from the dining room I saw a steady flicker of light added into that of the hall and chandelier, a burning fireplace casting shadows on the walls of the parlor. My grandmother's favorite room, the place she used to sit and read to me, taught me how to sew, showed me the importance of Louis Armstrong and Billie Holliday, rocked me to sleep when the monsters on the third floor brought me running down the stairs. The room was warm, it was inviting, and now it was halfway painted with her favorite color, scarlet. Halfway from where I had finished it the night before, when I was alone, when it was only halfway completed…_or not. _I stepped inside of the French doorway to the room, noticing a third wall completed over the fireplace's warmth, and slowly stretching my head, saw a shadow dancing on the opposing wall, an arm reaching to a place still left unpainted, the shadow of a most adorable figure. Trying not to giggle or screech or say a word I walked inside, seeing his back to me, and watched as I carefully approached him. My jaw was nearly dropped at the second and third coats he had completed on the entire room, a large room at that. With everything Mort had helped with on the house, I hadn't planned to ask for anything else, but he was still willing it seemed, to do the work. A glass of wine was settled on the mantle of the fireplace, half finished, and Norah played throughout the house, _geez Mr. Rainey…if I didn't know any better I'd think you were in touch with your feminine side…_laughing inside I stepped in behind him, wanting nothing more than to reach up to where he was balanced on the chair and grab the loose cuteness of his jeans. But I refrained…"You missed a spot."

Attention gained and a sweep of his shaggy head, he looked down at me, "Hey you. How ya feeling?"

"Good, despite not remembering a single thing." While I smiled, he jumped from the chair and sat down his brush and bowl of what looked like blood red paint. He came towards me with his arms already stretched out and without saying a word just wrapped himself around me, that warmth that made every hair on my arms stand up goofily, knees tickle with weakness, and my cheeks pale down to nothing but happiness. I felt a light kiss on my head as he drew me back and grinned, as if he didn't know what to say, or how to express it properly, "I like these." He tipped gently at my glasses, smiling widely.

"Oh yeah, I guess I can be nerdy too when I feel like it." Again he smiled while I found the chance to compliment his work, "The room looks amazing, I can't believe you did all of this…" My eyes wandered around, a few slight spins of my body to look upon all of the work, and he finally spoke. "Yeah, I wanted to surprise you. I noticed you hadn't finished it, and it kept my mind busy."

"Busy from what?"

"From worrying about you." His response was simple, but it was the richness in the way he said it that drew me closer to him. I threw my arms comfortably around his shoulders and leaned up to his mouth, smelling the wine, the paint, the still muskiness of his leftover cologne. His hair was a tangled mess from the day's adventures, his glasses were discarded somewhere else, leaving me to examine the dark heat of his eyes, and gently rest my lips to his. He always tasted even better than he looked, that zesty sting, spiced cinnamon, something familiar to my childhood, holidays, things I loved. Still feeling weak from rest, my eyes tired, he took over with the work of deepening the kiss, his tongue scattered someplace deep within my mouth, consuming me, exhausting me of what little energy remained. But I didn't stop or break, I didn't complain because it's what I needed, it's what we both needed, that short reminder. When finally distance was made I kept my arms at the nape of his neck, twisting short curls of hair, casually interrupted by a faint growl of my stomach, making him laugh. "Hungry or something?"

"Yes, really,_ really_ hungry actually."

"I can cook something for you."

"Sorry I'm all out of peanut butter and wonder bread Mr. Rainey…" I teased him with a snug grin at the corner of my mouth, only to hear the immediate defense. "I _meant_…_actual_ food. I happen to be a pretty damn good cook."

"Ah huh…"

"I swear I am…my laziness just precedes me, that's all."

"Well I think you're gonna have to prove this to me." I took him by the hand and we walked back through the dining room and the back hall into the kitchen.

* * *

I laughed inside of my gut as she dragged me into the kitchen, _Smooth talking pain in the…_

"So what _can_ you cook?" _Ass…pain in the ass. But sweet Jesus…what a loveable ass it is…_My eyes wandered over her backside while she turned and pushed herself up onto the counter to sit, feet dangling off, and that wicked grin of hers, another thing we had unconsciously in common. Walking slowly over to where she was seated, leaning in as I rested my hands on the soft flannel of her thighs, she cupped my face in her palms. "What do you _want_ me to cook…?"

"Hmmm…" Her lips covered my cheeks, kisses trailing over my forehead, nose, lips, chin, slowly as she thought about her answer. I could only think of one thing personally, _I would gladly forget the meal for a taste of…_

"Spaghetti." _Never mind, the voice of reason has other plans. _"Spaghetti…I can do spaghetti."

"Oh good!" She patted my cheeks gently as her legs wrapped around my waist and my body fell to the counter between them. "I might have trouble finding some stuff…are you gonna help?"

"Sorry that's not how this test works."

"A test?"

"Yeah a test…and there's rules too."

"Like what? Detention for cheating?"

"No…like…" I watched on humorously as she began to force the rules into her mind, things I knew were probably going to be trouble. After all, I was still dealing with _Roxy Love_. "Whenever you make a mistake…or go to a wrong cupboard…" I felt her lips at the corner of my ear, her tongue flicking quickly at my lobe and whispering, "You have to take off a piece of clothing." Every bone in my body shook at 

her voice, because I didn't want spaghetti, I didn't want any of it, I just wanted to take her on the counter, without rules or warnings. _Let her feed off of my…_

"And when you do something _right_…" Her lips brushed over my jaw, and swiftly across mine, leaving me hanging while she leaned back against the high counter, "you have to kiss me…_really_ kiss me."

Before she could continue I felt my body drift up to reach her mouth, my hand dragging her down by the back of her neck, "I think I can do that…" Cut off, "Ah!" She pushed me back, her legs still attached to my waist, but lips far too far away for my liking. "You have to follow the rules."

"Fine. Any more I should be aware of?"

"Just one…"

"And that is…?" The pressure at the back of my waist from her ankles disappeared, her legs dropped down to my sides again, and she jumped from the counter, making her way across the checkered tile. There was a small stereo on the counter, and as if she had already known exactly what CD is contained, she smirked back at me, and pressed play. "I _borrowed_ this CD from a friend…" _Borrowed my ass, it was the greatest hits she had pirated from my collection, Aerosmith, my Aerosmith girl…God help me. _Walking back to where I was she crossed in front of me with a smile, letting her hand gently dance at the tightness in my jeans, and moved back to find her place on a counter further away. "I hope you're a good singer Morty…" _Christ…_I lifted my eyes to the ceiling in reverence, _this is your goddamn doing…you better think of something. Morty…Morty, she's figured it out. Ah for fuck sake, I'm a doomed specimen…_I tried to stand straight from the increasing pain below, and looked back at her while the electric guitar and string of lyrics filled the kitchen.

_**Love in an elevator, living it up while I'm going down…**_

_How about love on a kitchen counter…? No…? Fine, I can work for good sex. _I winked once and went to the fridge, praying to god I was already making a mistake and that she would call me out on it. Praying to some higher power that the damn spaghetti would never get made…

* * *

**7:20 am**

I had showered, fought with my hair for a half hour, put on some makeup and come back into the bedroom to see him still asleep, soundly, comfortably beneath those red sheets. I could hardly move or think at the sight, his messy hair concealing his eyes, one arm thrown behind his head on the pillow, the other resting near his groin suspiciously, and the space all along his chest too inviting for me to stand. Trying to ignore it as best as I could I moved to the dresser, and slowly pulled on a pair of jeans, my thighs weak, sensitive from the events that had taken place only hours earlier, but I wasn't complaining. I found a bra and hooked it, along with a decent enough white tank top, pulling it down over my face to see him again. Mort hadn't budged in all of my commotion, I had worn him out completely, as much as I could. The early morning dinner was perfect, although he had only made enough mistakes to leave him 

in boxers, those had soon found their way to the floor as well. The spaghetti was eaten, but not until two hours after it had been made, and it had to be re-heated. _I'm a terrible dictator, terrible when it comes to this man…_He stirred slightly as I walked back towards the bed, but while his eyes were still closed, I managed to crawl across the sea of wrinkled sheets and throw one leg over him, sitting just at the growing firmness he'd created in his mind. Immediately his eyes shot open and up at me, smiling excitedly. "Mmm…" He hummed at the back of his throat while my hands slid across his chest and down to his lips, "Morning."

"Morning…" I let my hips rock slowly against him, feeling the pressure prowl at the tightness of my jeans, tempting me so bad. It wasn't really helping his situation any either, but I laughed. "I would help you out…" Another grind for good measure, "but I gotta head back to the city, "I kissed him hard though to be nice. _I'm such a tease. Poor Mort. _His hands wandered aimlessly across my back, my ass, everywhere I think he could reach at that point, and he pulled me closer to him, while rolling me over to open space on the mattress, his tongue never leaving my mouth. The moans that left my lips were ones I knew were desperate, I didn't want to drive anywhere, I never even wanted to get out of bed, but I had to at least show my face at the office. Lifting back from me momentarily, he grinned evilly, that same Mort grin that had taken over in the attic yesterday, that wild, animalistic side to him that needed to be released instead of just pleasured. "You don't really _have_ to go do you?" _Man…how can I leave, how can I say yes to that? No I don't, no, no NO!_ I felt the heat of his mouth at my neck and down to where my breasts filtered out of my shirt, his hands pressed around them, circling firmly.

"God I wish I didn't…"

Continuing harder, rougher with his fingertips, "I don't get to touch you for how long?" The strain for breath and thought continued in me, short groans leaving his stomach to match mine, "Two days…" At this he growled, but it didn't scare me, it only made me want to unhook my jeans and fill myself with him all over again, I couldn't live clearly anymore. I wanted that bad Mort, that side to him that didn't take no for an answer, the part of him deep down inside that I knew was there even when it was hidden behind the romance and shy eyes. "Fuck…forty eight whole hours without…"

"Without what?" His tongue stabbed the skin at my neck, to my ear, until he murmured with calm, rich, hungry dexterity, "hearing you _scream_…my name…" My eyes fell back into my head, his fingers somewhere inside the frame of my jeans, tongue and teeth famished at my earlobe. I wanted to feed him the way he had me last night, give him everything back, relieve the ache I could feel him suffering at the inside of my thigh. But I was already an hour late…"Quit your job." He said it so seriously, looking down into me, as if he actually meant it. "Just quit, stay here with me." _How much of that wine did he drink last night? Ha, he's drunk, he's gotta be. _I laughed, brushing the hair out of his eyes and kissing his forehead, "Such a romantic, Mr. Rainey."

"I'm serious, I can take care of you, fuck it all and just stay." My breathing slowly as I thought about his words, what he was implying, _taking care of me?_ It was adorable by all means, sweet, perfect, but hardly an option after only known him for a month. My job was what paid for everything, my whimsical lifestyle, it kept me sane, kept me independent from the world and I loved it. _How could I possibly quit…? _I really didn't have a clue what to say to him, he seemed honest, serious, but then so was I. And I tried to show it but sliding out from under him, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting on my heels. "If only life 

were that easy…you can't mean it." He sat just behind me, the sheets wrapped at his waist and his hand gently rubbing my lower back. "You don't believe me?" I really didn't know. "It's not that, it's just…"

"What, tell me?" I shifted enough to look at him, see the near worry in his eyes. "I…we just can't…you can't…" I was cut off by his quick hand to my cheek, pulling me towards him, but not kissing me, just speaking. "Don't _ever_ fight something you don't know the answer to. Just…know that it's an option, ok?" _I'm such an idiot, he's so…so…goddamn perfect! _All I could do was nod and let him kiss me softly at the corner of my mouth. Unable to really think clearly, I stood from the bed, grabbed my keys off the dresser, smiled once and opened the door. But even before I could run away in shame, or kick myself for not saying anything, he stopped me. "Hey Rox!" I had always hated when people called me that, as often as they did it never sounded right, but coming from him, it was everything it ought to be. I peered back around to him, "Yeah?"

"Glasses." He held them up in his hand from where they were on the nightstand, and sliding back over to the bed I reached out to take them, when he instead moved to place them over my eyes himself. I couldn't help but smile when he did, "I like you better as a nerd." It couldn't be held back, I just kissed him, deeply, proving just how I felt with every move my lips made over him, nearly falling back to the bed for good. And when I left I could sense his eyes on me, I could sense his heart following me right out the door. _Just what I wanted. _

* * *

Driving back to the city was easy, but driving through it was another entirely. It took me an hour to get from the bridge to seventy sixth alone, and when I eventually made it to the office, I was struck with a hundred different questions up ten flights, reminders, compliments on my last article. I stepped out of the elevator and was clear of it all, everyone in their own offices or bolting around too fast to even care that I was back after two weeks. Lily greeted me though, warmly, with a handful of notes and information, as well as Starbuck's.

"Roxy, you're here, thank God! There's a list of people who have been trying to get a hold of you for weeks, you've got a ten o'clock with Chris Martin and the band, and Miss Spears called…" I took the stack of notes from her, walking through the doors of my office as she continued on and on. I wasn't paying attention really, only thinking wearily on an offer that had been made to me a few hours before, by a naked man in my bed, _the most adorable…_"And Joan Rivers' people called and ask that you not feature her quote in your Kathy Griffin bio. Oh and one more thing, a cop from the Tashmore Sheriff's office called about twenty minutes ago."

I froze immediately, _Tashmore, Sheriff's Office…what the hell? _"What did they want?"

"Not sure, just some questions for you I think. Here's their number." She handed off the small sticky note, and I took it quickly, my eyes shifting from the note to the phone. Lily was quickly dismissed from the room though by a parade of both Casey and Eric coming in, and my mind again stopped to their words. "Where have you been? We were freaking out!"

"You have to see something." I looked at Casey who was holding a newspaper forcefully against her chest.

"What?"

"Take a breath first." I didn't, but she still tossed it onto my desk in front of where I stood. This time my eyes didn't shift anywhere, just fell upon the front page of the Times', and the article's title printed clear as anything possible. _**Tashmore Football Captain Found Dead At Lake. **_


	10. Those Who Are Dead

**Chapter 10: Those Who Are Dead**

_**Part 1**_

As soon as Roxanne had gone my head hit the pillow again, I needed sleep after everything that had happened the day before. Most of all nearly losing her, and that nearly killed me as well. I fell into deep, desperate sleep for a good hour or so, until I was startled back awake by a pounding to wood, distant, but forced. It was the door, front foyer, two levels down nonetheless. Trying to pull my lazy ass from the bed, I figured boxers would be wise, and glasses helpful to make it down the stairs, and from there walked carefully, hand wandering somewhere inside the front of my pants without a care in the world. _I reserve the right…Roxanne didn't help. _Chuckling off my habit of morning discovery, I rustled my hair a bit and moved through the foyer to grab the door, which would have been a perfectly fine answer to a knock on any other morning. But on this morning, it was the man who had prayed to put me away for three years of my life, stalked and searched my property in the hopes of me slipping up, and now, he was at Roxanne's door, and I had answered it in my boxers. _Ah fuck. _"Dave…"

"Mr. Rainey." The way he spoke alone pissed me off, made me want to take the nearest fire poker and just ram it up his stiff… "House sitting for Roxanne?" _Fucking pain in the ass, he knows exactly why I'm here, and is just too damn proud to admit that the little Roxanne Hayden he remembers would be shacking up with his enemy. _"Not quite, Dave. What can I do for you?" I slid through the screened front door and stood out in the warmth of morning sun, noting the other cop cars scattered in the open lawn, and a few of his comrades joining him. It was a sight to be sure. "Well, seems we have a little investigation on our hands, Mort. Lucas Hayes, high school senior was found here, on Roxanne's property this morning. Dead."

"Shit, is that right? Well you don't think that Roxanne had something to do with it, do you?" He looked at me with a pressing eye, as if he was communicating telepathically, telling me exactly what he thought.

"Is she around?"

I yawned, out of context but it still caused him to huff slightly, which did me good. "No…she uh, had to go back to the city for work, why?"

"Well we're gonna need the both of you for a while, just to answer some questions for us." I looked up to him again, seeing the glare in his eyes, that evil, stricken death wish he always had with me and me alone. "You know Mort…_routine._" _Yeah fucker, routine when the town thinks you killed everyone within a two hundred mile radius…_"Yeah, routine. Got it. Mind if I uh, put some clothes on for this little field day of yours? I'm a bit shy here in all my _morning_ _glory_ Dave…" Sarcasm was all I could grant him anymore, and I stroked my bare chest seductively with a grin towards Officer Cain, the only woman on the force, the one I knew was checking me out anyway. _Hell,_ _I'm aloud to be arrogant when someone wakes me up at quarter to ten for yet another murder case. As the good man says, routine…_He nodded swiftly and replaced his shades, while I walked back inside, my mind scattering quickly. I couldn't text Roxanne at the office because my cell phone was back at the house, and if I called I would just be told to call back later more than likely, or be asked for an appointment time. No…it didn't matter, Dave was halfway to getting her information and work number anyway, I would just have to play this all out till she got here. I ran up the stairs again, not really in a hurry for Dave, just in a hurry for my own mind, my own thoughts boiling over. _Lucas Hayes…Lucas Hayes…poor kid.

* * *

_"Oh my god…_Lucas…"_

"Who?!"

"Rox, do you know this kid?" Eric pressed into my desk, glaring down at me, waiting. "I…well sort of."

"Sort of...that's re-assuring. Why the hell are you staying up there? It's dangerous!"

"Guys, I have to go make a phone call…" I grabbed the newspaper and shoved it under my arm, took my coffee, the sticky note from Lily, and made headway for the door. Taking the call in the conference room would be safest, so I jogged there as if my life depended on it, and maybe it did. Jack passed me in the hall and I nodded without apprehension to what he seemed to want, but when he shouted I could have sworn he said something about having a talk, who knows. I got to the room, locked the glass, sound proof doors, and lunged myself into one of the huge leather chairs nearest the phone. It didn't take long to dial, but my fingers shook as I did, and the phone even shook lightly against my ear, a shiver running my spine. _Somehow they had gotten my work number…_

**Ring.**

_They knew all of my information, they knew all about me…_

**Ring.**

_What did they think I knew about the case?_

**Ring.**

_I hope they don't think that I…_

"Tashmore Police Department, Sheriff Newsome speaking."

"Sheriff Newsome, it's…um Roxanne Hayden."

"Roxanne, how are you? I'm glad you called back."

"I'm fine, Sheriff. Just a little…_confused_ that's all."

"Well so are we, hon. You know it isn't every day we get a call about a body on your grandfather's property."_On my property…did he really just say that? _

"I-I'm sorry, what?"

"Lucas Hayes, his body was found in the North end of the lake, at the back of your property Roxanne, around nine o'clock this morning." _It's not possible…they can't think…no…_ "Good boy, bright, took the football team to states three years running, ya know."

"Yes sir, I know. But I just can't believe that he…well, my property? How can that…you all don't think that I…Dave, I know the Hayes' family too well to even…I wouldn't…"

"Listen darlin' we aren't making any convictions, only doing some investigating. Now we've got a search warrant for your property, not the house, just the land. I'm out here right now, and we're also gonna need you to head on back from the city, answer some questions for us, okay?"

"Uh, yes of course, absolutely. I can be there by…um…" I glanced over to the clock on the wall, it was almost ten now. "Noon?"

"Noon's fine. You drive safe now, alright?"

"Yes sir." I dropped the phone to the receiver, took a strong swig from my Starbuck's cup, tapped a few fingers lightly on the glass table, and then pushed back the chair and headed out the door of the room again. Four or five different people tried to stop me this time, asking questions about music preferences, new movies, even the warrant for Paris Hilton's arrest. _Warrant…oh god…my property…shit. _I just kept walking, bolting back to my own office without even looking a single person in the eye. Jack even tried to stop me again, but I told him it was a family emergency, grabbed my purse and jacket and ran for the elevator. I couldn't think straight, my mind was running nearly as fast as my heels had, everything pointed to me and my own devices as it stood, everything about that poor kid's death was on my doorstep right now from what I knew, I was freaking out. A soft melody played inside the elevator, but I kicked the toe of my shoes anxiously and waited for the…**DING**…jumping out, scattering across the tiled lobby, and getting blown through the front doors and into the first cold breeze of New York fall.

_Calm down Roxanne…everything is fine…everything is cool, you didn't do anything. No one did anything…the kid drowned or something…oh god, poor Luke. _I stumbled out to where my car was parked at the meter, the stupid Mercedes my mother had convinced me to purchase, a symbol of New York city fortune, or whatever she said. I hated the car right now, just the sight of something that made me look better than someone who was found in Tashmore Lake dead, I hated it for that simple reason. But I got in, pulled out onto the street, and drove off. Past the museum, the library, city hall, and right down past the NYU campus, right in front of the place Lucas had wanted to go, the place I used to love.

**"_Good, just trying to get applications done for college. NYU…" He pointed to my sweatshirt with a gleam in his eye, "I'm hoping to go there next fall." _**

**"_Well in that case, let me know if you need a recommendation…"_**

"Fuck! No!" Before I even managed to get out of the city my hand hit the steering wheel, pounding it, and the tears stained my red cheeks. I turned the radio all the way up, took off onto the bridge going eighty, and wished I could have done something for him, wished I didn't have a heavy heart about such an event. I wished I didn't have my own unanswered skeletons.

* * *

They had swarmed like flies within an hour, cops, investigators, neighbors, the local news station, all sorts of nosy little shits. I tried to stay inside as long as I could, but eventually Dave came looking for me, and I went out to answer whatever questions were asked of me. And good god, did they have some excellent ones on this round of, "Convince Mr. Rainey He's Guilty".

_**Have you ever gone to a Tashmore High game?**_

_Huh? _"No"

_**Had Lucas Hayes ever crossed your property in his walks home from school?**_

_Probably, what the hell? _"A few times, but I don't mind."

_**Are you and Miss Hayden currently seeing each other personally?**_

_Jesus Christ…_ "Will that help you solve the case?"

"No, not necessarily."

"Then why do you need to know?"

"Umm…" The little prick didn't have an answer for that one, so I just moved on to the next cop instead.

_**Mr. Rainey how well did you know Lucas?**_

"I knew his name and hair color, that's about the extent of it."

_**So you never had any reason to follow him home?**_

"No, never."

_**And what about Miss Hayden, was she close to the boy?**_

I didn't really know how to answer that one, I assumed she at least knew him through his family, but I wasn't sure about the proximity of their friendship. Of course I didn't have to worry about the question at the moment, because out of the corner of my eye I saw the hood of a glinting Mercedes pulling into the drive, not her old truck this time, but I didn't care, it's what was inside that mattered to me. _God let me just see her face before they swarm…let me see her…_And there she was, her brown hair falling in her eyes as she struggled from the car, wearily it seemed. But as I finally got a glimpse of her face I realized she wasn't in good spirits, from the distance of the porch and her car I could see her eyes red and swollen, her arms weak and slumped, and then she was shadowed by someone else, an older woman and that was that.

"Mr. Rainey? The question?"

"I don't know…what was it again?"

"Miss Hayden…was she close to Lucas Hayes that you're aware of?"

_I don't give a fuck; I just want her close to me again…

* * *

_

I pulled in and immediately saw the scene, a disgusting thing on my lawn, this property that had been in my family for almost a hundred years, now a crime path. Once I was parked, I managed to quickly spot Mort on the front porch, surrounded by a few officers; more or less interrogating him I was sure. I jumped out, fumbling with my purse, and tried to take a quick breath before it all began. And so it did, but hardly the way I had hoped. Just as I was brushing back my tangled hair from my eyes, I heard her, the voice of the devil's messenger. "Oh God, Roxanne, darling!" _Please, oh please someone tell me this is now a nightmare and any second I'm going to wake up in his arms again…please…_when nothing happened and I could smell her Chanel no.5 wafting in the air, I knew I was screwed. She bolted in front of me while I was closing the car door, and threw her arms around me lovingly, in faux mother mode, the best she possibly could. "Baby, oh isn't this just terrible?" _Squeezing, fuck she's squeezing too good. Someone…get…her…off…of…_She pulled back, her hand stroking my cheek and eyes darting over my simple ensemble as it compared to her Fifth Avenue spree. "Now listen to me Roxanne, don't you say a word to these police officers, you have every right to your attorney. Do you hear me?"

"Why do I need an attorney, I didn't do anything, mom! Jesus…" I tried to brush past her, I wanted to get to the porch, I wanted to be with him and I could see his eyes again, watching me desperately. I could also sense my mother chasing after me in her heels, while mine cut through the dirt and grass towards the front steps. But before I could manage even one stair, Newsome caught up and stood in my way. "Little Roxanne Hayden, it's been a while darlin', wish this was under better circumstances."

"Hi, Sheriff." I shook his hand, but awkwardly, trying to ignore his voice. "Mind if I take you aside and ask a few short questions?"

"Um, yeah sure just…"

"Yes, she does mind!" _Oh my god…this isn't happening to me. _My mother stepped in between Dave and myself, her powdered face and pressed dress suit shimmering in the light, but her eyes fierce with a stunning heat only a New York CEO's wife could emit. _My mother folks, the world's greatest bit-_ "Roxanne is not answering a single question for you Dave, not until we get a hold of her attorney!"

"Annie, it's just a few questions I assure you. Nothing harmful…" While Newsome was trying to talk some sense into my mother, I took the opportunity to sneak between them and take the five wooden steps to where Mort was, brushing past the other younger officer, and leaping into his arms arduously. As if he had been waiting for it, his arms wrapped around me strong, lovingly, and I could feel that he was doing all he could to pull me out of the situation, to shelter me. My feet fell back to where his were, but the embrace didn't end, it only deepened when I heard my mother's voice again, and I knew he could sense this. After everything I'd told him about my parents, especially my mother, I was glad now to have him there. "Roxanne! Roxanne, come here right now!" _What does she think I'm twelve again…_I let my lips linger at his ear as he hugged me tighter, "Don't leave me…whatever you do…don't leave me Mort." And he returned the gesture quickly with a kiss on my cheek, "I've got you. I'm here..." We pulled back from one another to face the crowd of curious officers and a few cameras. My mother stood in the middle, arms crossed in a disgust I was proud of, but the only thing I was focused on was the calm squeeze of a hand on mine. The hand of a man I needed. "Roxanne let's go, we're going to call your attorney."

"God mom, will you shut the hell up?!" I heard Mort try to stifle a laugh beside me and it only made me want to defy her more, "Dave, I'll answer whatever you want. It's fine." He nodded graciously, the tint of his glasses like something out of a movie, something I remembered him by from my childhood, and I squeezed Mort's hand hard and tried to pull him along as I followed. But Dave had other plans. "Uh, I hope you don't mind if I take Miss Hayden aside privately, Mr. Rainey?" I didn't like his tone with Mort, and I couldn't figure out why it was so mean, but I ignored it for now, nodded and turned around as Mort left another kiss on my cheek. "You'll be okay. I'll find you when he's done."

"Okay." And I let him go, following Dave off inside the house, and my mother somewhere screeching behind us. "Damnit Dave, Roxanne…" The house didn't feel the same anymore; it was colder all of a sudden, lonely, spiritless. I didn't feel my grandmother anymore, I couldn't hear my grandpa like I once could, nothing, just sadness. I led Dave in through the kitchen, explaining about the remodeling I was doing, of which my mother had input in as well. "Your grandmother would roll over in her grave if she saw this mess in her house…dear lord…"

"You would know mom, you put here there." She stumbled in past me, and I sat beside the Sheriff, letting her rifle through my dirty dishes and the spaghetti from the night before, holding back my amusement. "Okay Rox, it's pretty simple really. I just want to get a little information from everyone." _There's that name again…Rox…it just doesn't sound the same. _"That's fine Sheriff, I'll answer whatever I can."

"Good, alright so exactly where were you between…oh say noon and about five o' clock yesterday?"

_In any other instance this would be a perfectly logical answer to come up with, except the place where I was, the man I was underneath, the floor I was sprawled out on…not very respectable in front of two people who had known me my whole life…damn. _

"Well, I left just after noon to walk over to Mort's house. He had an old armoire of his aunt's he wanted to show me, for the parlor I'm fixing up." I pointed in the general direction, he nodded, and noted it. "And you were there until five?"

"Yeah at least, we took his boat out on the lake till the sunset or later…." I wasn't about to say anything to him on my near death experience, or Mort being a hero, so I just went on normally, "So yeah, we headed over here around six or so to make some dinner, spaghetti."

"Ah huh." Another nod. Another note. "In fact the proof is in the pot my mother is trying to grieve over right now…" We both turned to where she stood over the pot and its contents, laughing together as he continued. "That's fine. How about Lucas, you two were close, huh? Knew each other well enough?"

"Well sure, he was a great kid I mean you know that Dave. I've known his parents for years, he was only like eight or so when I went away to school, but when I came back last month the two of us caught up."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, he was so excited about graduating, said he was uh…filling out all his applications for college." I giggled a little at the thought of Lucas' smile the day before, "He wanted to go to NYU, and I told him I'd write him a recommendation and everything."

"Well that was sweet of you."

"Yeah…I liked Lucas. I just…god…" The tears were coming and I couldn't stop them, I didn't care either. "I can't believe someone would do that…to him. And here, on this property. It's sick."

"I agree completely, and I feel awful having to do all of this, but we just need to know."

"I understand."

"I've just got one more quick question for you…" Without saying a word I nodded lightly and looked back up at him, wiping the tears away. "Could you just explain to me really, how close are you to Mort Rainey?" Again, this would have been a logical moment to just lie, it wouldn't matter in the case at all, so just do it. My mother was drawing in closer now, interested as usual, and waiting for me to give the answer she dreaded. Dave was almost sinister in his interest as well, and I couldn't quite place why. I had to tell them exactly what was going on, it shouldn't matter to me…_It's my business who I sleep with, it's my business who I decide to…._

"I'm very close to Mort, Sheriff. I really like him, and he cares for me a lot." Just as I began to get giggly over my answer, I noticed both of Dave's eyes shift curiously, almost as if he couldn't believe me, so I felt obligated to assure him. "Mort's wonderful to me, a total gentleman, and just perfect, I promise."

"I see."

"Roxanne Sunshine Hayden, you had better not be falling in love with this man!" It was the first time my mother had used my middle name in fifteen years, so I took it as a sign.

"And why's that? Why do you care so much who I happen to share my time with? Just because he doesn't own a company or run a state?"

"Because Roxanne…because…he's not safe!" _She's officially on drugs, or something very close. Botox side effects perhaps. God knows, but Mort not being safe was the stupidest thing I'd heard yet today. Mort was the safest place I had ever known, the only safe place I had anymore. _"You don't even know what you're talking about, he's safe to me."

"Sheriff Newsome, tell her so I don't have to please. I can't bear to even mention it."

"Roxanne…" He began quietly, as if he was about to state facts that I should keep with me at all times from here on out, almost as if he was about to tell me a secret. "I spoke with your mother before you got here, and I feel it's only fair to warn you especially. Mort Rainey may look very appealing, and gentle at the surface, I understand, but he's not _quite_ as innocent as he lets on…he's in a pretty big heap of trouble with the law, although we haven't quite caught up with him entirely yet."

"What…what do you mean?"

"Well what I mean is…"

"He's a murderer! A serial killer, Roxanne!" My mother's interruption caught me off of every guard I had, threw me into some strange alternate world, and as I looked to her, hands on hips now, eyes glaring with forced fear, I too became afraid. Afraid of just about everything in that moment.

"No…no, he's…safe. I'm safe with him…" I was afraid to keep sitting, afraid to move, afraid to walk through this house now, afraid to do anything but the one thing I knew I instantly needed to…I had to prove it to myself all over again, I had to remind myself of the truth. So I bolted from the kitchen, and ran as fast as I could to find my safety net, to find the arms that kept me from the every bit of harm. It all became a blur in that moment, everything disappearing into the path I was running, through the front door, down the steps, across the lawn, I could only hear myself yelling above the sound of my world shifting, "Mort! Mort!" The ground wouldn't stop moving, my ears wouldn't stop ringing.

* * *

_**PART 2:**_

Twenty minutes or so had passed since Roxanne had gone inside with Newsome, her mother following in behind, only after she gave me a snarl and grunted something under her breath. It didn't bother me, I'd heard about Mrs. Hayden, her lifestyle, and how she viewed her daughter's choices, and it was no surprise to me that I wouldn't be welcomed with anything but what I was given. A cold shoulder would have been more inviting than that woman's eyes. I remembered that it had been quite some time since I'd been home, and that Riley was probably starving and desperate to go out, so I assured the detectives I'd be back and went back to the cabin. By the time I made it back though, a good number of police officers and neighbors had barreled out, leaving Roxanne's lawn a bit more solitary than it had been. They were still anxious to question me further, insisting on showing me the path down to where the body was found, and explaining what evidence they could, all in hopes of catching me in a lie that didn't even exist. But I agreed.

"His body wasn't mangled too badly, just a simple bullet wound to the chest. The coroner said it happened sometime between noon and about five yesterday, but you say that you were at your house, correct?"

"Yeah, cleaning out my attic."

"Spring cleaning in September, Mr. Rainey?"

"Just cleaning Carter, what difference does it make?" Again, they had shoved the inexperienced cop off on me for the afternoon, the one who hardly knew the case enough to even have the authority to be here. Carter had been a good guy when I first moved up here with Amy, a few beers here and there, a few laughs, but now I wanted nothing more than to show him what his gun could really do. "Do you have any firearms, Mort?"

"No…err well a small pistol, but it's registered for protection."

"Protection?"

"Yeah Joey this is still America. Look…are you just going to keep asking me the same questions you've been asking me for three years, or can I go back inside?"

"Well I…" Just as he attempted to make an even response, I heard something distant, nearer the house, my name. _"Mort! Mort!" _At first I thought I was imagining it, forcing myself to hear her, but it got louder, clearer, more desperate, and my head turned to see Roxanne running from the side of the house, running towards me. "Mort!" I didn't know what he'd said to her, or what her mother had done this time, something worse. I stepped away from Carter as she lunged into me, differently than before, this time in tears, unable to breathe. "Mr. Rainey, can I please…"

"No!" I growled at him, Roxanne's face burrowed against my chest, "We're done!" He nodded off nervously and walked back towards the house, with the other detectives all looking on curiously. I ignored them and rubbed her back, kissed her head, did anything I could, even though I didn't have a clue what to do. Her breathing was increased, almost spastic when she finally pulled back to look at me, her eyes swollen, nose dripping, hands trembling. I cupped her face in my hands, checking for invisible bruises, cuts, anything, I didn't know what the hell had happened to her, she sounded so weak, so unlike Roxanne. "What's wrong, are you alright?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine…I just…need…"

"What? Tell me what to do?" A pause came, strong, thick from her eyes to mine. "Will y-you get me out of here?" I stroked back her curls, the few tears at the corners of her eyes with my thumbs, and her nose to my shirt, then lifted her from the ground, her legs wrapping around my waist, arms at my neck. Nothing was said as I carried her off to where my Jeep was parked near the front porch.

"Mr. Rainey!" Dave yelled, I ignored him and settled Roxanne into the front seat, running around to the other side.

"Roxanne, you come back here right now…!" Her mother stood at the porch as it began to slowly rain, yelling, begging for a daughter she hardly knew, but I knew her. I had to get her out of there, and we took off through the mud. I didn't know where I was driving, or where we could go, and all I could think about was what wasn't being said between us. The things I was afraid Dave had told her, or at least convinced her of, the case, the missing people, the Mort Rainey the town thought they knew. I was so scared to even say a word, to give her any other reason to worry, so instead I took her hand in mine as I drove, and waited for her to speak first.

* * *

A blur of trees and road, rain, water, images of light and cold, darkness and those eyes kept covering me as he drove on. I sat still, trying not to appear out of sorts, but hardly achieving it. **"**_**He's a murderer! A serial killer, Roxanne**__!" NO, _I thought, _he can't be. It's just Mort, and he's safe and wonderful and…_I dipped my head back to the seat looking at him, his focus on the road entrancing, and then turned back to my own window, the rush of yellow road lines, grass and foliage, memories I thought I had buried away, bad choices I thought I had lived through. _**"I don't love you anymore, can't you see that! Leslie is the woman I love, we're over Roxanne!" **_His eyes were so angry that night, his knuckles white with the tension of not being understood. Max and his other interests, my fiancé with a secret agenda. _Leslie…_every woman's nightmare. _**"You proposed to me…and now you're leaving me?" **_I couldn't stop seeing it all, his stupid blue tie, the one I bought him for his birthday, his cell phone ringing with her name, that dinner I had made. All of it…_coming back. _Mort's hand was soft around mine, his index finger stroking lightly against the inside of my palm, and I pulled it away nervously, not meaning to but needing to. 

_**"You will never be the woman I need; never…you can never be…" **_

"Pull over!"

"What's wrong…?"

"Just pull over Mort, please!" He did immediately; the Jeep toppling into the slick grass at the side of the small one lane road, there was nothing but us around. My hand went to the door handle, pulling, struggling to get out, "Rox, what the-? Where are you…" I was out before he could stop me, my heels sliding from my feet, bare toes meeting mud and wet wildflowers, and my mind running nearly as fast as my body had picked the pace for. _Just run…go…keep going Roxanne…don't stop….run from it…_"Roxanne! Roxanne, stop!" He was calling after me, _why? No one ever chased after me? No one ever cared before…?_ I wanted to stop, to fall into the road, let the rain wash me away, just give up….but I kept moving as best my feet would allow on the asphalt.

_**"You'll never be Leslie…you'll never be your sister…you'll never be…"**_

"Roxanne!" I heard his voice one last time, barreling through the rain behind me, causing my knees to weaken, legs to stop as he caught up. A shiver ran up my spine when he threw himself around me again, still protective, warm, secure, and I let it all go, every inhibition falling with my tears. I held onto him as if I might never come up for air again, as if it would be the last time anyone held me that way, _and maybe it is…maybe this is it. _"I-I…have to…t-tell you…" My teeth clattered against his soaked shirt, trying to find the confidence to tell him what I had done, the things I had done before in my life that no one ever knew. I wanted Mort to know, because a part of me was beginning to wonder if he knew all along, if he sensed it and if maybe we were more alike than I had guessed. "Mort…I…I need to t-tell you…" Drawing back from him, the loose material of his white shirt clutched in my hands, the rainwater covered my eyes, his face, neck, both of us. "Tell me what? What is it?"

I was choking again…the breath caught in my lungs and I coughed it back with another stream of tears and turned away. Yet not sooner had I made a beeline for the road again than he had grabbed my arm with meek force and pulled me back, holding my shoulders nervously, his eyes glaring down at me with a desperate need, _he can sense it…he knows already…_ "Tell me Roxanne, please! Just talk to me!" With a sudden shake of urgency I stopped crying, and held a contented stare, my lips beginning to move without my invitation…and I couldn't stop it, the word vomit…_Oh god…_ "You need to…go. You have to go, you shouldn't be with me." Thunder rumbled at the mock of my words, the rains growing stronger and Mort watching me without sarcasm, without even a syllable to go on. Ripping my arms away from him I stumbled back, my jeans curling beneath my feet in inches of water, a helplessness washing over me. "What are you talking about?"

"It…it doesn't matter. You just…just go! Go Mort please and don't bother with me…"

"Wait, come here." He stopped me before I could make it past him, "Just tell me what's wrong."

"No! I would never…I can't…no…you're going to hate me, you hate me." My eyes were burning with the sting of acid, the pain of my past draining from every pore, the way I had laid it at his feet while he watched me struggle. Seeing him now meant it was only a matter of time before he ran, before he took off, knowing who I was, who I…._Oh my god…what have I done? _Clasping my hands to my mouth I moaned forcefully towards him, closing my eyes to avoid the inevitable and waiting, listening for the sound of an engine in the storm. "Roxanne!" He yelled it at a close distance, a waver of my eyelids to see him again, I dropped my hands to my sides. "I don't hate you…I could never, god. I love you!" The thunder continued on, seizing the blood in my body from coursing through my veins, his words…that one word…_love. No he can't, how can he love me? _

"Y-you…no! You can't love…"

In a split second I lost my balance when his arms lifted me from the ground, the hard crash of his wet lips against mine, rough fingertips creeping beneath my wet tank top, another lost in my hair as my legs clung to his hips, arms tugging his neck as close as it could. I could taste the truth in him, this side he had been hiding among the others, the forlorn, repressed side of love. Coiled into his arms, he staggered back to the Jeep, tongue twisted against mine, my breasts growing hard, shivering against the warmth he was capable of emitting in fifty degree rain. Once at the car, he pressed my back harshly against the side, grinding his firm dampness into my center, proving to me it wasn't a dream anymore, this was real, and this was it. The other times we had been together had felt almost too thrilling to be taken seriously, but this was serious, this was his body's follow through on the admittance of his heart. "I do love you…I need you Roxanne." He spoke clearly as his tongue left my mouth, and he reached for the handle of the car door. Once open he pushed me down onto the stretch of backseat, jumping in on top of me while I lay breathless, "I-I believe you…"

_And I did. _

Our feet dangling out of the open door, Mort's thighs straining between mine as he lifted my shirt away, he kissed every piece of flesh, the raw heat of his mouth carrying me away, my legs shaking, begging him to take me, I needed to feel him inside of me, I needed the reassurance finally. I stripped his back of the white shirt, throwing it into a molding ball on the floor of the car, each tip of my fingers grazing into wet skin, the blades of his shoulders loosening at my touch, hips sharpening into pleasure. I felt the inside of my mouth grow swollen and weak at the service of his tongue, giving my mind the focus of his jeans button and zipper once mine had been undone and pulled away to the floor. Plunging my cold hand deep inside of the opening, between skin and the cotton of his boxers I found what I had been in poverty of for too long, the tight, stirring flesh of his growing desperation, and I pulled it out to rest teasingly against my lower stomach. I wanted it, but I waited for him, knowing this was his moment now, his chance to show the vigor of his proposal to love me.

I watched his eyes intently as he stroked my cheek, pressing down into my opening, teasingly with a smile. If Mort Rainey could play a rouge then so could I, and I lifted my head slightly to meet the sensitive skin beneath his jaw line, nipping it between my teeth, and being taken aback myself when at the startle of my action he thrust quickly inside of me, filling me on impact with all he could give, all I could take. My head dropped back to the cushion of the seat, his resting just off to the side of mine, his breath hot in my ear, gasping, writhing against the ache of what my body was capable of doing to his. "Ah…fuck!" He shouted into my neck with a clench of his teeth, mine seething with the claiming moans I had yet to hear myself ever give a man, "Rox…god…" Hips jumping to meet his speed, his pressure, inflamed tug at my waist, I wanted to take him completely this time, I didn't care what happened, I didn't care what may come of it, I wanted everything he could give me. _He loves me…Mort…oh god…he loves me. _"Mort!" I screamed, preparing myself for his rush, the thickening, the spinning energy high above, and could feel my body dance around his, clench in mode of transpiration, and without a single care in the world I tugged at the short curls of his neck, pulled his head back into the starch air around us, "I love you too." It must have been his hope to hear these words, with seconds later sending a jolt of charging heat and fluidity through me, every bit of his containment for the last twenty hours, everything I had left him with in bed that morning, the fruit I had skipped out on was finally being granted to me, and with a loose beg, a careless moan into his mouth I collected it greedily.

And as he fell against my chest, inaudible whispers of passion, of ardor, I realized what it was I needed to do. One confession to follow another, an admittance to follow a sentiment, but it was essential now. Running my fingers through the tangled curls at the nape of his neck, his cheek and chin, I pulled his face back a ways to peer into my eyes. "Mort, I need to tell you something."

He didn't say anything, only stroked lightly the swollen pink below my lip, waiting for me to go on. _Do it Roxanne, now's your only shot, tell him what you did, tell him exactly why your mother and Newsome's warning broke your balance…exactly why._

"I've killed someone."


	11. Girl Inform Me

**Chapter 11: Girl Inform Me**

_Huh? She…what? _

My head fell to her chest again, exhausting every breath we shared, rising and falling at the softness of her breasts, the pink lace of her bra beneath my fingertips, and the flaccid gift of mine still lost inside of her. I couldn't move, she couldn't move, and we didn't seem to be in any hurry. The rain was slowing on our feet outside of the truck, beads of sweat tickling between us, and her breath exactly what I needed to hear, the break in the waves her words had just caused. The confession immediately boiled in my mind, but not because I couldn't believe it, or understand, merely because I had no reason to hide myself anymore now. Our pasts it seemed, had not been so far off the mark from equalizing as they appeared. When she was ready she would explain herself, and it would be my turn then, to explain to Roxanne Sunshine Hayden…who Morton Alexander Rainey is…was…_used to be. _

_Before it's too late, Morty. She needs to know. She deserves the truth. _

When I was finally able to move again I sat up slowly, buttoning my jeans back and handing her what remnants of clothing were thrown over the backseat of the truck. No words were coming; she wasn't looking at me anymore, only slid on her wet jeans and sat beside me, hands coiled at her knees. I could tell she was nervous and why wouldn't she be, I sure as hell was. _She killed someone. Okay, easy enough I guess. So had I, right? _A thousand chips of glass were sputtering in my mind, that word _love_, how after only a month I'd shared it with her, and now, to know that perhaps that love had spawned from a hidden trait, one that maybe I had known about all along. _Can killers recognize other killers? Does that make sense…no. I don't love her because she's a murderer. _With a short cough I noticed her turn towards me on the seat, her legs curled inward, and eyes lowered, _here it comes, _"I never told anyone that before."

"With good reason I assume."

"It's not something I selfishly pride myself in, if that's what you mean. But, I needed you to know."

"Why's that?" I questioned her harshly, not really planning too, but letting it slip that way. Her face too grew hardened with pain; as if she thought I would push her out of the car at any moment and drive off. Which I wouldn't, how could I? How could I punish her for a crime I'd been a veteran of?

"Mort I, well Newsome said –"

I cut her off quickly, "Let me guess. Newsome told you I was some psychopathic assassin, right?"

"Not like that, but –"

"But too close to that for comfort…"

"It was an odd warning that's all. I didn't believe him but, I just…I don't know." I hated seeing her like this, so lifeless, so confused with her own words. Roxanne was losing her confidence, that trait I'd fallen for, that careless, reckless luminary edge that had brought me back to life. It was shadowed now by memories, by details of her past that I wanted to know, I needed. "You wanted an avenue," I began as she brought her eyes up to finally focus on mine, "you needed a reason to disclose what you had done."

"Yes."

"Me too." Mid-nod she stopped, as if coming to terms inwardly on what skeletons I had, like she couldn't believe Dave had told her the truth. And then there was a smile, not a great one, nothing sparkling, just a dip at the corner of her mouth where once a frown had been. Enough to assure me she was relaxed, she was able to go on and explain herself now. "Roxanne I want you to tell me everything. Tell me who it was and why you did it, I just want to know _you_. Please." At that moment she stirred a bit, drew her body nearer to mine on the seat, and gently took my right hand into both of hers. I kept my eyes as low as hers were, fixed on the growing warmth of her fingers as they brushed across the back of my hand, then along the inside of my palm, "See these hands? These…are the softest hands that – have ever touched me." Her gentility was draining my senses slowly, I didn't know where she was headed with this, but I didn't care, I wanted to follow her there. "And these arms," She began, her delicate hands running the length of my bare arms, warming them inch by inch until she reached my shoulders, "These are the safest arms that I have _ever _been inside. _Ever…_" With a pause for thought between us, she soon continued, "Ethan never gave me that feeling."

"Ethan?"

"Yeah. Mort I know I should have told you before but--"

"It's fine." I said, rubbing her shaking knee as she smiled. "Tell me now."

"Ok…well Ethan was my fiancé. We met at NYU my junior year, he was a senior and we just; I don't know fell really hard, really fast. Lived together for almost three years before he finally proposed. I was so excited… But then another year passed, and he got busy, all the time. Flying in and out of New York…_business _he said. And I was dumb enough to believe him." She stopped to brush away a falling tear, and I felt my stomach churn at the memories being concocted in my own mind, bad things, terrible things, that motel, that night. "I didn't want to admit he was cheating on me you know, I didn't want to have to convince myself I'd failed, or screwed something up, that it was my fault."

"I know." _God, do I. _

"But then it was two weeks before the wedding, I'd done all the planning, had my dress. I was ready to be married, God I was so ready." Her hands were growing restless in mine, trembling even, so I held them closer. "He said he was going to California before the wedding, for some outsourcing meeting or something, I don't even remember."

**"_Do you really have to go this week? We have so much to do before the wedding…"_**

**"_I'll be back before you know it, just have to get business done babe, you understand."_**

**"_Yeah. I love you." A weak kiss on my forehead, and he turned away towards the door._**

**"_Okay, I gotta go."_**

**"_Bye." _**

"I was at home that night, cooking dinner, working and stuff and I heard his phone ring in the bedroom. He had left it on accident, which was really stupid on his part, because even though I missed answering it in time…his '_business' _hadleft a message."

"What did she say?"

_Ethan it's Leslie, why aren't you picking up? Look if you're on your way to the motel it's booked; I found another place for us closer to Brooklyn. The little wifey won't ever find it, it's the Sunrise Motel on 82nd. Call me back when you get this baby…_

"Shit."

"Yeah that's what I said. But then I realized how _wise_ he had been in choosing to sleep with a girl who left me open directions to where she was waiting for him." She laughed at this point in her story, this detail that she still seemed to revel in, and I did too at the relation I had. "So I went to his nightstand and took out the gun I knew he kept there. He always said it was to protect me…and I guess he was right. I jumped in the car and took off, and everything just sort of blurred for a while, at least until I got there."

"And then what?"

"Well…Ethan hadn't gotten the message so I had the bitch all to myself. Managed to find out what room had been rented out by a Leslie, Crews nonetheless. She used his last name as her own, she took what I had wanted for so long and used it against me."

_**I**** found the room, knocked twice and finally got an answer. "Yes, can I help you?" She was dressed in this red lace, probably expecting my fiancé, hard and ready for her. Not exactly the most modest of women, which I applauded him on having found. "No, you can't help me. But…I hear you've been helping my fiancé out." Well, she tried to shut the door real fast, but wasn't quite as strong as me. So I pushed it back open, followed her inside, she tripped over the bed a few times, and yelled for me to get out. **_

"But you didn't."

"Of course not. I wasn't me in that moment, I was some other creature. I was a monster."

**"_Go away, I don't even know you! I don't know your fiancé, I swear!" _**

**"_Oh no? Then why are your slutty directions on his voicemail?" I threw the phone at her, emphasis I guess. I wanted her to know what was going to happen to her before I took the gun out. And I think she did. "I-I didn't mean to…I just…" And then I pressed the barrel of the gun to her jaw, I dug it into her skin, but didn't fire. I wasn't ready to kill her. There was one piece still missing. "Oh god, please Roxanne don't kill me!" She knew my name…_**

**"_Don't worry, you still have a while to plead your case. Get in my car!" I shoved her out of the door and into my car, not thinking twice about any surrounding rooms or people, I could hardly even make out what I was doing. It was bizarre._**

"Weird feeling, that instinct to kill."

"It is, and it takes a lot to get to that point. But I was there."

"You and me both, Rox. Where did you take her?"

"Well I just started driving through the city, over the bridge, I just had to get away, get to a place I could do what needed to be done. But then he called her, and my plan changed."

"To what?"

**"_Tell him to meet you at the docks." I whispered it to her as she informed him, and of course he struggled to understand the point, but eventually consented. I had scared this girl so much she could hardly even look at me, I had this power I'd never felt before, the ability to shape everything the way I wanted it. And so the driving continued, everything was quiet except for the occasional clicking of the gun beneath my grip at the wheel, and the radio. The whole scene had played like twenty times in my head before we made it to the docks. And then I saw him. Leslie jumped out before I could stop her, and ran to him. The way I wanted it. "Ethan! Oh god, Roxanne she found me! She's got a gun!" _**

**_I walked down to where they were, slowly, plotting out the fine details with a smile on my face, or so I think. Ethan started yelling all sorts of things…saying I wasn't a real woman, that I couldn't satisfy him the way Leslie could, that I could never be a good wife, a good mother like my sister. He'd hit the spot._**

**"_I don't love you anymore Roxanne, can't you see that? Leslie is the woman I love…we're over!" _**

**"_Yes…yes Ethan you're right." _**

"And I shot him. Once in the arm, and the second bullet to his heart. It all happened so fast I…I just couldn't think…" I brushed back the hair from her eyes as she tried to breathe past the admission, her eyes weren't green at all, they were dark, almost black in the fading light. "I wanted to keep shooting, just…fire at him until there was nothing left."

"What about the girl?"

"One bullet." There was a tingle in her palm as I held her, as if a gun were still placed in her grasp. "Her head. I shot her in the head."

"And…the bodies?" I questioned her with caution, holding back in spades as she thought about it, let her mind wander over everything she'd spilt thus far. Her face was contorted, mingling with a dangerous tone, fear even. "The Hudson River," she whispered to me, "talk about poetic, huh?"

"And no one ever knew?"

"No one ever cared. Ethan had apparently made business deals with the wrong people anyway, people who would have gladly killed him for me. All I had to do was play the part of the distraught fiancé for a few months, play dumb. It went smoothly, the way it almost never happens in the movies, I got away with it. Mort I know it sounds crazy, and it probably makes me crazy, but I just…I had to do it. I don't know why, but something in me came out that night and I had to kill them. I don't want you to think that I would ever—"

"I don't." Cutting her short I pulled her legs onto my lap and held my arms at her waist. "I don't think that. He deserved what was coming to him in my opinion, I've seen it myself. I don't want you to think that I'm some insane serial killer, but I promise not to lie to you anymore, because it's just going to fuck things up if I do. I need you to know that whatever they tell you about me Roxanne, it's not half as true as it sounds. You have to believe me."

* * *

I believed every word he'd ever spoken to me, and now he was understanding of my own mistakes, I owed him my word, I owed him everything in me and more. His eyes were sunken to a shallow pain I recognized in myself, and I cupped his face gently and pulling his lips to mine. I needed to taste him and know he was still real, that none of this had been in my head. I kissed him hard but quick, letting my hands get lost in his hair, "I _only_ believe you."

The tension in his eyes was broken by that, and he began swiftly, with a pace he had studied in his mind before, I could sense this. As if planned to admit his actions to someone for years now, practiced the phrases, the tone, everything. He had waited far too long to explain himself like I had.

"I didn't just kill senselessly. I had every reason the same as you." Shyly, almost as if we had just met, like that first night in his house, he took my hand in his and looked at me deeply. "But I'm not me. Not really me anyway, I haven't been for…twelve years at least. I…I've just been locked in this other person's mind, trying to find a way back to myself." I didn't understand fully, but nodded and squeezed his hand to assure him I wasn't scared. "I'm not this guy they make me out to be, he's just the surface. The real me Roxanne…it's in here." Slowly he lifted my hand to rest over his heart, not smiling, just watching me steadily, and trying to make me see. "And I thought it was dead, but…_you_ brought it all back."

"Me?" Holding back the tears I listened to him, the confession he was making carefully. "You, everything you do. You're bringing him back."

"Who?" I asked with his pause for breath, for dramatic effect, for something inside of him.

"Benjamin Miller."

"I-I don't understand…"

"I'll tell you everything if you want to know, explain it from the beginning. I guess, I hope…you won't turn against me and freak out. It' not exactly your _run of the mill_ bedtime story, if you catch my drift?" I laughed without thinking about it, just did, and it made him smile. "You know those papers you found in the attic yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"Well that name…_Benjamin Miller_…he's not my cousin. I lied, I…I didn't want you to know about this stuff, or I thought I didn't. It's just way too dangerous if you get involved." He was stumbling with words again, and I still couldn't discern any of it, I only hoped his point was coming. "I am Ben Miller, Roxanne. I was anyway…"

As his head hung low I wondered on the statement, "You, but your name is Mort Rainey. How can you be…"

"Confusing huh?"

"Very."

"Well to make a long story short, I was born Benjamin James Miller, in Chicago. A bouncing baby boy, November 18th, 1972." I smiled at the thought of him in such a way, little Mort…_err well Ben? Little Ben…oh my god, this is incredible. _The information went on wildly, all the facts between that and college spewing from his lips romantically, "It's all who I was. Until…well, until I was twenty three. I wasn't always a mystery writer, ya know?"

"You weren't?"

"No…I used to write historical works, all kinds of non-fiction. Mostly, murder scandals in history and things like it. I published my first book when I was twenty, was writing for this small press house out of Chicago while I was in school. And in the summer of 96' my publisher came to me, wanted to know what I was working on, I told her I had a few ideas for books but nothing definite. And I really didn't, until…"

"Until what?"

"Till I met…Harvey. Harvey Klein." The way he spoke the man's name, this raw glint of haste in his eyes, it unnerved me, and I felt my legs shake slightly. But Mort stroked them warmly and drew me in further beneath his arms. "You cold?"

"It's that name, the way you say it…makes the hair on my legs stand up."

"I know what you mean, and there's a reason for it. See, I met him in my apartment building in the city, he was this crazy old man, didn't like anybody, especially me. But this one night I was at home, studying or whatever, and I just kept hearing this loud _banging_ next door in his place, a pounding, but not on a door or the floor, it sounded like a person."

**"_God damn…argh! Fucking piece of –"_**

**_I just sat there on my couch, listening to it…. "What the fuck is that crazy bastard doing?"_**

"I mean I thought I was going nuts, I prayed I was but I knew I wasn't." As Mort went on, I felt every bone in my body jump up and down at his emphasis. "So I did some spying, tried to figure out what was going on, and when I made it out to the doorway of his apartment I saw it…this…_huge_ bag, just sitting there."

"Oh god…don't tell me. Was there a body in it?"

"Well, I never got to find out. The old man came outside and dragged the bag away right in front of me, like nothing had ever happened. He yelled at me in German or something, God knows. I was gonna call the cops but never did, I was too fascinated with it to let the cops have the story."

"What do you mean?"

"I wrote about it. Gave the idea to my publisher a week later, and wrote my very first murder mystery."

"Isn't that kind of like…plagiarism in a way?"

"It's kind of like playing with fire, yeah. It didn't last long though, as soon as Harvey caught up with the book's publication he tried to have me put in jail, sued me, took me for all I was worth at that point. He swore he was going to kill me, he even tried to put out a price on my head, some mob bullshit, but I took it pretty seriously. Ending up having my apartment broken into, Amy was stalked for a while when we first started dating, all kinds of scary shit. So I decided to drop from my publisher, quit school, and then me and Amy moved to New York. Tried to start over, tried to hide out just to stay alive. And that's when Benjamin Miller disappeared…I left him in Chicago, I was too afraid to be him anymore."

"And you became Mort Rainey?"

"I did. Managed to find a publisher in Manhattan, signed on as their official mystery writer, and gave them my new name. Started off fresh, me and Amy got married that same year, bought the cabin up here, a house in Riverdale a few years later, and Ben Miller was just gone, I didn't even know who he was anymore. He was somewhere in Chicago, that kid."

"What about Harvey Klein…did you ever see him again?"

"Not once, I guess he just couldn't trace me. And life was good here, you know, or at least I convinced myself it was. I told myself it was everything I ever wanted, the million dollar house in the suburbs, the job in New York, freedom, a wife, a family maybe. But it wasn't the life or the family I had dreamed of, it was this whole other arena I had created for myself, for the _new_ me."

"And you didn't like it?"

"God no, after a while I started to hate it. I would shut myself up alone for days on end, just writing, trying to ignore it all, trying to get back to that safe place, the real me I lost. Over the years me and Amy drifted apart, I told you we had miscarried, she starting seeing another guy that last year…"

**"_How are we feeling about ole' Ted these days?"_**

**"_I don't know, I love him I guess."_**

**"_Oh…that's good."_**

**"_I didn't go with other men, you know. I always wanted to tell you that, I didn't go with other men. Only Ted, and only the last few months after you and I were already over…"_**

**"_Well if we over…while we were still together, you might have mentioned it, because it was news to me!"_**

**"_That's because you weren't there anymore, you were gone all the time!" _**

"It all just hit me really fast. _'This isn't what I want, this isn't who I am…this is somebody else.' _I knew I had to do something about it, I had to wipe off this Mort Rainey life, so I started getting lost in my head I guess, coming up with ideas and schemes, things I could never really understand but they just all melded together up there."

"In your head?"

**"_Even when you were with me, you were gone, up in your head. I don't think that I…looked in your eyes, and actually saw you looking back at me for, I mean really with me…for the last two years."_**

"Yeah. It had become this whole other world, another being entirely. And even though it belonged to Mort Rainey, Ben Miller, _I _was pushing my way back through it. And I did, at a cost. Somehow I had created this guy in my mind, John Shooter, some random Mississippi farmer, a real nut. I guess I figured if I could create someone else to do away with Mort Rainey that I wouldn't have to worry about the consequences; that I would get off free with whatever damage was done."

I was beginning to worry now, I had a feeling the bad part of his story was coming, the part that would prove to be troublesome with the surrounding detectives, all of the people interested in murder nearby. It was coming… "Mort…? Who did you kill?" He just looked at me, those primal eyes of his, the attic eyes, the ones I loved about him were staring through me. It was Mort Rainey I was seeing, and I understood now. Mort Rainey was animalistic, unafraid to kill, unafraid to live on the edge. But Benjamin Miller was the man who had helped fix up my house, the man who made peanut butter sandwiches and gone out on boat rides, the man who had asked me to stay with him, who said that he would take care of me. That was Ben, and Ben I realized, was the man I was falling in love with. The very thought of which scared me more than anything else about the conversation at hand.

"I need you to understand Rox, that I didn't kill them. It's as you said, Mort. Mort Rainey killed Amy Rainey. Mort Rainey killed Ted Milner…and Ken Karsh and Tom Greenleaf, all of the names they will try to throw at you. No matter what they say it wasn't me, it was him. Do you hear me? I would never hurt anyone," I watched him deeply, a tear struggling at the corner of my eye as he moved his thumb to brush it away, "I would never hurt you, I promise."

"I know that…I just…you're still Mort Rainey. You are Mort, and that bad side might….I don't know, come back or something…"

"It won't, it can't."

"How do you know?"

"Because you sent it away. I don't know how, or why but…you brought the real me back from the dead. My name might still be Mort Rainey, but he's not in there anymore, at least not the bad part of him. It's all gone, all those sick thoughts, and plans. It's…it's just me, Rox." I didn't know what to say to him, part of me wanted to hug him, kiss him, make love to him all over again. He sat looking at me, and I smiled to reassure him of my affection, stroked his cheeks slightly and tried to look deep within his eyes. I didn't see anything but what I already knew, I knew Mort Rainey, but I knew the Benjamin side to Mort, and somehow the rest had all gone away, everything I luckily missed. "I've never told anyone, any of this before. Amy knew, but she's gone. I would have explained it earlier I guess, I was just too worried you would…I don't know, judge."

"I don't care who you are. I don't care if you're Mort, or Ben, or Michael Jackson." We broke eyes to laugh together, "Okay, well I might care if you were him, but it doesn't matter to me because I know who you are. You're the guy who rescued me from the rain…and from drowning…and you're the guy who painted my house, picked out a crayon color for my eyes, and cooked the best spaghetti I've ever tasted." He kept chuckling through tight breaths as I went on, caressing my legs, kissing the palms of my hands, making every bit of me melt, making me forget what had been exchanged in the backseat of that Jeep. "I never thought that I had anything left to give anyone, I didn't. I came up here to find myself again, to get away from the city that broke me all those years ago. But instead I found you. Whoever you are. In finding you, I realized who Roxanne Hayden really was. And if I truly helped you find yourself the way you say I did, then promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise me you won't leave this time. Let Ben stick around a while…for me." I dare say he agreed to the terms, as his arms swooped in around me, and his lips kissed every dangerous spot on my neck and shoulders. However it had happened, however the fates had warped themselves into our favor, we had been given the opportunity to understand each other better than we ever thought possible. And with that being said, and the topic of murder still on my brain as he held me, I began to wonder about Lucas again. Mort hadn't admitted to killing him, and I didn't think he was capable of it now, with that bad side gone, but someone had. There was an answer to the question of Lucas' fate someplace nearby, and it would be Mort who was threatened first, if he hadn't already been. _Maybe, _I thought, as his breath warmed the cool spot behind my ear, _maybe there's a third piece to the puzzle. Maybe we missed something…_


	12. Bullets and Positives

**Chapter 12: Bullets and Positives **

_(One Week Later)_

A night of restless lovemaking, thighs aching with the strain Mort had put on them in frustration, in fear, I woke up to a ten o' clock wakeup call from Jack. And in not so many words he assured me of how he would have short remorse in firing my ass if I didn't make my way back into the city by noon, the result of my having run off a week earlier without so much as a single word. I didn't want to drive back to Manhattan, or even step foot in that office, but knew that it was important to keep myself somewhat busy when Mort was with writing. I took a quick shower, got dressed and had a bowl of cereal before kissing his forehead and trying to make my way out the door of the cabin, until I was overcome with something. A strange, almost uneasy feeling in my gut that caught me off balance halting instantly, hand to my warm forehead, clammy palms. I was late though so it didn't matter half as much to me as my job, and took off back into the city for the afternoon.

The ride was long and lonely, something I hadn't really been able to experience as of late. I didn't like it one bit, but concentrated on the road with music, a few text messages to Casey concerning the nature of Jack's warning, as well as a call to a few clients, interviews, celebrities I'd long since forgotten. The returning normalcy was nice, but every time I found my focus again, I thought of his face. I thought about everything he'd told me the week before, the past, the present, and the pending future I had neglected to admit to yet. My inner voice was weighing down by the time I managed to turn onto the interstate, everything going a million miles an hour, traffic, tunes, a humming on the road, a tapping of fingers on the wheel, and the increasing waves in my gut, like a flash of lightening.

I rolled down the windows, hoping for fresh relief, and it helped immensely, finishing the stretch from the bridge to inner city again, a route that was becoming quicker and quicker the more I ended up taking it. After only an hour's worth of driving I pulled into the parking garage, stopping to use the valet services that on any regular day I would pass up graciously, and darted from the car with only my purse towards the elevator. My entire body was moving faster, as if it was in some sort of race against time, a fearless twisting inside of my stomach with every hop or turn, arms and legs growing numb, weak, as I rode the gated elevator up to the back entrance of the twelfth floor. Once the doors opened again and the rush of bodies presented itself, the flurry of news, music, entertainment all over the place, greetings, handshakes, high fives, all of it for my return from absence, I noticed myself began to feel even weaker, legs too loose to continue walking, head too drowsy to respond to anyone. So instead I darted off in the direction of my office not thinking twice, passing Eric without a word, bolting past Jack, and eventually bumping right into Casey. "Rox, good you made it….hey, you ok?"

"Uh--" was all I could get out before my hand cupped itself over my mouth instinctually, purse falling to the ground and I knocked Casey out of the way to reach the ladies bathroom in the far corner. She came in after me as I knew she would, concerned as everyone else must have been. The 'oh so attractive' gurgling and purging continued for minutes as she stood behind me, hands holding back my hair, "Sweetie…what the--" She tried, her own reflexes gagging at the smell of vomit wafting throughout the bathroom, but continued rubbing my own back as everything came out. I continued to loosen my lips at the drowning of my gut, the burning sensation at the center of my thighs removing what little energy I still had for the day, the memory of his fingers in certain places, his lips in others, the feel of his sex against me, the feel of his body pounding into mine the night before, the week before, all the last month.

All of it haunting me now, all of it coming back.

* * *

_"Hey Mort?"_

_"Yeah…" I replied breathlessly, leaning my head in to hers._

_"Did you mean what you said before about…"_

_"Bout' what?"_

_"About me quitting my job, and staying here with you?" I paused immediately at her question, having never guessed this would come at this moment, or at all. It hit me between the eyes, my head already drowning in thoughts and feelings and desires, but now…it was rushing, boiling over with shock. Oh god, I gulped back the surge below momentarily, she's not really thinking…_

_"O-of course I did."_

_"And do you still mean it?"_

_"Roxanne…" I spoke softly, trying to completely ignore what was being shoved aside now, it wasn't quite as important. "I mean it, I was serious." She nodded, battling her response back and forth in her eyes; it was in the way her fingers tapped at the nape of my neck, until she finally concluded. "Well then I—"_

_Cut off, we both were by a swift banging on the glass window panes of the front door. Our heads jolted in the same second, brows twitching curiously, and the fist on the door continuing with effort. "What the hell…?" Roxanne got up from my lap and I stood trying to button my jeans again, both of us moving towards the door, her hand snug around my upper arm as she walked behind me. The knocking ended abruptly as soon as I stepped in front of the door and tried to look out through the curtain. Go figure… There was no one there, but I pushed Roxanne back slightly anyway before I opened it. And when I did, I wished I hadn't. "Oh fuck!" I slammed it shut again and fell back from the doorway, hand covering my mouth, struggling to keep my gag reflexes in check. "Mort, what is it? What?"_

_"It's…shit, I don't know. Just—don't…" My hands were digging into my hair as she tried to tug my arms down, cooed and begged me to tell her, but I couldn't, and that was a big mistake with someone as curious as her. She walked back to the door and opened it, unafraid one second, and motionless the next. I tried to pull her back, but she refused to move, she couldn't, she was fixed on it. "Come on, get away from it. Rox!"_

_"No. It, it means something. Someone knows Mort."_

_"Don't you think I can see that, please come on, shut the damn door." I tried to, but again she held against it, stepping further out onto the brightly lit porch, the echoes of night all around. I had to follow behind her, holding tightly to her waist and trying to step clear of the mess. It was something I couldn't have dreamed up in my head, something no nightmare could have warned about. Blood, smeared along the planks of the porch, in a sequence of letters. **Benjamin Miller. **She's right…someone knows. Isn't that just…_

_"This isn't good. You have to do something."_

_"Like what? I'm wanted for murder, Roxanne. Come on, don't get so close." Barefooted she tiptoed beside it, gore and seething aroma, right on my doorstep. I looked back up and she had made it to the screen door, heading out, "What the hell, where are you going?!"_

_"Come here…look. There's a person." I leaped over the sick mess to where she was standing, eyes wincing out into the darkened distance, having my glasses on I could luckily see better than her, and what I did see, I didn't like. A shadowy figure, a familiar figure was slowly pacing through the brush down the pathway from the cabin, a black cap, a red jacket. "That son of a bitch…" I kicked open the door and ran out onto the gravel in my socks, not making it very far without pain following, but desperate to catch up to the guy this time. That fucker…I knew he was screwing with me! "Hey you…get the fuck back here!" He kept walking, running almost further and further away from me, and my holed socks not getting me to him fast enough._

_"Mort stop, come back!"_ The echo of her voice, the thickening breeze, the fact that I wasn't going to catch the guy. All of it drove me mad.

_Was it a dream? A nightmare…Christ. I don't even know, _I thought wearily, sitting up from the fumbled mess I'd gotten myself into on the couch, the place that had once held two bodies, but now only one. She was gone again, and by the stillness in the house I could tell she had gone away somewhere, whether home or to the city, I didn't know yet. I got up and made my way into the bathroom downstairs, trying to relieve what thrill was left over from the night before, a senselessly drained night of passion at that, or so I had hoped anyway. I couldn't remember, _I hope I didn't hurt her. _I noticed lately my temper loosen out and lash towards her during sex for some reason, as if the intimacy between us were not meant to be so, as if it were meant to disappear. But I ignored this and finished in the bathroom, only three or four steps out when I heard another knock at the door. This time slightly gentler, yet still just as brandish as the night before, that horrid pounding that had preceded an omen. _Or was it a dream? Damn, I can't even begin to think. _I guessed as soon as I opened the door to the front porch I would have my answer, so this is what I did, paying no attention to who it was through the window, only throwing back the door angrily.

"Mr. Rainey." _Fuck. I should have known better. _Newsome come to check on me again it seemed, his aviators tipped down to the bridge of his nose, an accusing smirk plastered along his face. Something wildly varying from any other morning wake up call. "What is it now?" I replied sarcastically, glancing down below him shined shoes to see that porch was clean of any blood, any name, any omen. _Thank God._

"Can't play dumb with us this time, Mort. We've got everything we need."

"For what? Your tea party?" He sighed with annoyed exhaustion in my direction, shuffling his feet and reaching for something in his back pocket, a warrant I assumed.

"For this." Speaking callously his palm draped a glittering pair of handcuffs in the early morning light, as my mouth grew tense without response or defense. _Shit. _

* * *

_Shit._ It's all I could think. Another hour had passed in my life, another sixty minutes of uncertain ground, only this time it resulted in an answer. There was no more after taste of vomit on my breath, all I could taste now was the lingering fizz of coke and my own blood being drawn at the junction of teeth to bottom lip. My hands were writhing together between the my thighs, hair tossed up into a makeshift ponytail from before, and eyes swollen with fear. Casey and Eric sat across from me at the desk, waiting for me to look up at them again I'm sure, half expecting me to probably cry my eyes out any minute. But I didn't. Instead I furrowed by brow and reached out for the small object, the one holding the truth.

"Rox, it's…it's a good thing you know?"

"Yeah, sweetie." Eric leaned in, "It will be."

I tried to drown out there confidence in the matter, and traced the lines of the pink X from the distance in my palm. It was small, almost like an understatement in my life, _Oh. By the way…_but it wasn't, it was everything in that moment. Somehow I could still feel his breath on my neck, steady and warm, just as it had always been. Now though, there was pressure added into it, the pressure to do the right thing, to accept what was in front of me. I had attempted to think about all of the possibilities while Casey had run off to by the test at the corner drugstore, I'd focused in and out for thirty minutes on what could happen and why, when and how. And now that the test had been drawn, the results calculated, it didn't seem to matter, because there was only one answer to anything I asked myself. _Mort. _

"You gonna tell him?" I heard Casey, but with only a mock response of a nod while I shuffled to drop the test in the pile of papers already growing on my desk. I had so much work to get done, so many interviews to give, so many contracts and articles to sign off on. Everyone at the office had been doing their work, while I'd been off having unprotected and 'out of this world sex', restoring a house, being accused of murder, and now, getting pregnant with the child of a man who I couldn't get my mind around. Glancing down to the calendar in front of me I calculated backwards, not for the life growing inside of me, but to remind myself of just how many days I had known Mort. _It's September 23__rd__…and I came to Tashmore on…July 30__th__. Met Mort two days later, August 1__st__….seven weeks. I've only known him seven weeks…holy shit._

"Roxanne!" Casey yelled and withdrew my attention in math to focus on both of them.

"What?"

"It's going to be fine, you said he loved you. He wants to take care of you, right? Ok?"

"Yeah. Ok."

* * *

I blinked a few times, looked out onto the driveway where they were scattered, cars, badges, guns, the whole nine yards. Then glanced back to Dave, the sick bastard and his smile, "What the fuck are you going to try to accuse me of now?"

"Cut the act, Mr. Rainey." He said, grabbing my wrist cruelly and turning me around with a shove against the doorway panel. I felt the steel cufflinks wind quickly around both wrists, wincing at the pinch he applied and the words he whispered with a grunt of power, "You're under arrest…_finally_."

"Is that right…" I tried, letting him pull me back and down through the porch, onto the gravel in my socks, and then forcing me against the hood of his patrol car, _finally huh…_I thought with a crude grin towards the other officers. "How you doin' today boys? Got a good reason for this I suppose…"

"Mr. Rainey," A young officer said approaching me from the side, while Dave held tight and searched me for whatever the fuck he thought I would have on my person at ten in the morning. "You're under arrest for the murder of Lucas Hayes, as well as the convicted murder of the following: Amy Rainey, Theodore Milner, Kenneth Karsh, and Thomas Greenleaf. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an--"

"I know my fucking rights!" I cut him off and shoved my leg back to get Dave away from my balls, "Careful David…those don't belong to you." He grunted in dissatisfaction with me, and I just shot out what I truly knew, "You don't have any proof of this shit."

"We've got more than proof Mort," Dave growled, pulling back on my arms again where wrists met steel, and glared at me through his tinted sunglasses, "We've got a witness this time…"

"What? A blind person?"

"We're taking you to town…"

And so he did, while his young assistant held the door, Dave threw me inside, slamming the door and driving off with his force of trusted patriots in tow. The only thing I could think about was Roxanne, where she was, if she knew, if she'd ever come back now.

**"_I'm not this guy they make me out to be, he's just the surface. The real me Roxanne…it's in here."_**

_God I hope she believed me. _

* * *

Another forty minutes passed before Jack came to find me for our little talk. I had known it was coming, but decided not to worry about it so much, or at least I had thought not to. He came to my office with a proud glare, shooing Casey and Eric out as I tried to scramble to make myself slightly more presentable, jeans and t-shirt, pregnancy test pushed into my purse, and a tear wiped from my eye.

"Jack, hey."

"Roxanne…" He began, sliding to where my couch was and offering me over to him. "Sit down." I did, not so closely to him, but enough to be polite, dreading his words. Jack Morrison wasn't a mean man, especially with me, he'd treated me like the daughter he never had on most occasions, gave me what I wanted, space, room to grow artistically with my writing, everything a girl could need in this industry. But today was going to be something different, I could feel it. I owed him more than I had even begun to work on, I was backed up for weeks with celebrities on his hot list, and I was teetering on the edge of having a blank page in the next issue. Either he was going to fire me or threaten it coldly.

"How's the article coming?"

It's uh…" I droned, trying to remember my topic, _polar bears, damn. _"It's coming along slowly."

"You haven't started it."

"Well…"

"I know you Roxanne. You haven't started it, and there's something keeping you from it. This guy."

"No, not really. I mean, yes, I'm seeing a guy…"

"A writer so I'm told. A pretty popular one to this city."

"Yes." I replied meekly, my fingers twisted uncomfortably together.

"He wrote that one book….god what was it? It was good, about the cheating wife…"

"Secret Window."

"Ah, that's it! Good book." At this I smiled, feeling more relaxed with the pace of the conversation, but still guilty for everything I had to get done for Jack. I needed to reason with him, before he did so with me.

"Jack listen, I know there's a pile of stuff on that desk over there…but, it's just…"

_Beep. _The intercom.

"Roxy?" It was Lily, nervous sounding with a purpose I was sure. I didn't want to leave Jack hanging again, but he nodded for me to respond and I walked over to the phone, holding for the speaker. I didn't even think about Jack hearing it. "Yeah, what is it Lily?"

"That police officer is on the phone for you again, he says it's urgent. Do you want me to put him through?"

And from the couch at the opposite side of the room, I saw my boss nod, the father figure I never properly had in my life, give me the go ahead to answer, if only because he was just as curious at me. I lifted the phone to my ear for some sense of privacy, and dialed in for Dave, my knees aching with unasserted thoughts, and my mind only on Mort in that moment. _God, let him be ok._

"Hello? Dave?"

"Roxanne, hi there."

"Um, hi. Is there something wrong, Sheriff?"

"Ah well…you could say that darlin'." I heard the squeak of his office chair in the background, and the sinister twinkle of his cough. That's when I knew something wasn't up. "We arrested Mort Rainey about an hour ago."

"You what?!" I shouted and Jack stood and walked over to me, obviously concerned. _Son of a bitch…_I thought, _how can he just…_

"We've got all the evidence we need now against him, hon. He's been convicted."

"How can you...no, there's no evidence against anything Dave! Mort didn't kill anyone." It was a bold lie, but I didn't care. So was my life.

"You might not think so, but it's the truth. We found the gun he used to kill Lucas Hayes with, as well a direct witness to the murder." _Shit. It can't be, Mort was with me…how would he? _"Mort's here right now, being held until we can bring him into the city's jurisdiction for questioning. And I suggest Roxanne, that for you own good, you cease all connection to him. You didn't heed mine or your mother's warning before, but now you can see, he's not a safe man."

"You're wrong Sheriff." I said grimly, holding the receiver tight, and choking back the tears with a glance to Jack. "I love him. And I'm coming to get him out." The phone slammed down roughly to the desk and I could hardly stand up straight. Jack looked worried more than annoyed, and held his hand in his pockets as he spoke.

"Leaving again?"

"Jack I--"

"Look, I don't know what's going on with you lately, part of me is too scared to even ask. You're not Roxy anymore, you're a little more troubled than she used to be, and in a way that's alright. Who am I to keep you here against your will?"

"I need to go to him."

"I know you do, and I'm letting you. But…"

"But?"

"I want an article about those damn polar bears on my desk by Monday."

"I promise." Smiling, I leaned in to hug him, something I just simply needed for the moment. And then grabbing my purse and running to put my heels back on, I shouted to Lily for a hold on all calls and guests, darted out of the twelfth floor again, and began my journey back to the lake. Back to the place that was quickly becoming a personal hell. Back to help him.

* * *

"I want my god damn phone call." Dave twisted in his seat to where I was slumped, arms dangling out of the corner cage they'd managed to get me in. His younger protégé was seated closer to me and after rolling my eyes at Newsome, I chuckled back, "Hey kid, live a little. Hand me that phone."

"I'm sorry Mr. Rainey, no phone calls while you're being detained."

"I thought this was jail. Everyone gets a call."

"Everyone but you," Dave huffed, standing up and walking towards me, hand straddling the gun in his holster. _Bring it on fucker…_ "I've got ya, Mort. Just like I said I would, gotcha good too."

"I'm glad to see you're so confident, Sheriff. I'm guessing you won't give me a phone call cause' you're afraid of who I might dial."

"Roxanne I assume."

"It tears you up doesn't Dave? Seeing little Roxanne Hayden sleeping with your enemy…"

"She's been warned."

"And yet she still gives herself to me…every day…every night…" I teased through the bars, my hands gripping with force, waiting for him to stomp off, which he eventually did. And to which I responded accordingly.

"Fine. If you fuckers aren't going to give me a phone call…I want a smoke."

"No smoking in the cell." The kid laughed.

"Then let me out."

* * *

I drove, god I drove, like a crazy person. Pushed my Mercedes to the limit out of that city, crossing bridges, construction, traffic and right through into the woods until I got to the sign, Welcome to Tashmore Lake. _Thanks, I'm back gladly. _The radio purred with forced lyrics, things that inspired me to be nothing short of a pain in Dave's ass when I got to the station, which I did only minutes later. Rolled over the curb, parked the car jagged, ran up the steps and kicked open the creaky front door. The floor tiles smacked with my desperate heels, and I passed everyone willing to help, everyone who was keeping me from him whether they knew it or not.

Eventually I found the office I needed, and yet another person who only wanted me to wait. "I demand to speak with Sheriff Newsome!"

"Ma'am, please…"

"Oh come on Stevie, you've known my name for twenty five years, you even know how I like my eggs, now get me Dave…"

"Rox--"

"Now!" He ran off behind closed doors, saying a few words to someone, and coming back with the man I couldn't help but to sneer at .

"So you were serious, Roxanne. You came anyway."

"Yeah, I did. Now take me to see him."

"Mort's being detained, he's not allowed to have--" I didn't wait for him to finish, only pushed my way past them and bolted through the doors they had come out of, running through the room to where a cell was holed into the corner.

"Mort!" His head swung around to look out of the bars from where he was sitting, and he jumped to his feet as I came to him. "Rox, what the hell…what are you doing here?" I tangled my fingers in his between the metal, reaching his lips before he could keep questioning me. Dave and Steve wandered in shouting, and all I could think about was the taste of his mouth, all I needed.

"Roxanne, let's go!"

I didn't answer them, I answered Mort and his tongue, pulling his face as close to mine as I could through the bars. And when he moaned with satisfaction I fell back, my hand still attached to his.

"Come on, you can't be here." Dave tried again, to which I squeezed Mort's hand tightly and replied, "Let him out."

"He's a murderer, and he's in here for good."

"Let him go."

"See Dave, my girl's got the right idea." Mort laughed off his input as Newsome grew more annoyed with both of us.

"Roxanne, how many times do I have to say it?" I rolled my eyes and made my way over to the now noticeable officer beside me, a younger kid I didn't recognize. With a stroke of his cheek and a grasp to his belt I snatched his keys away, Mort chuckling lowly but stopping once Dave stepped in to take them back from me. "I don't think so, sweetheart."

"What the hell, this is ridiculous!"

"He's murdered five people, and now he's in jail for it. It's the law, and you're breaking it by being in here. I can set up a cell for you too, darlin'?" When I ignored him slightly in thought he began to walk away towards his desk, trying to ease me in that direction as well. I didn't move, only looked over to Mort, sad and immobile in his cage, and then to my feet trying to come up with something, anything that would work. Tears were already welling in my eyes when I began to accept that there was nothing, until I found my hand subconsciously rubbing the slight of my stomach, and my eyes widened towards Dave.

"Let him out, Sheriff…_please_." He growled this time, annoyed at my continuous plead, but rolled his eyes in my direction, "Give me one good reason why I would ever let a murderer walk free in the streets." I hesitated, stepping away from Mort's cell with a careful look at him, and then back to Dave, a breath, a pause.

"Because I'm pregnant with his child."


	13. Nothin' Better To Do

**

* * *

**

Chapter 13: Nothin' Better to Do

* * *

No one spoke. No one moved. I stood with weak legs, my heart going at a barely visible rate, tears finding their way to my eyes before I could turn around to see Mort. I didn't want to turn around, I wanted to run now, forget I'd ever made the confession and find another way of getting him out. Dave stood starkly in front of me, his eyes narrowing just over my shoulder to his prisoner, and the disapproval coming to his voice.

"You're carrying a criminal's baby…Roxanne; your mother oughta love this…" I didn't respond, I wasn't sure how and I could still feel Mort's eyes burning holes in my back as Dave went on. "Your poor grandmother, she's rollin' over in her grave about now."

_And maybe she is_, I thought, _but certainly not at my being pregnant._ If she's rolling over, or tumbling or shouting for any sort of mercy down there, it's because of how they were treating Mort, how they'd convicted him on the grounds of a gun that still didn't have definitive fingerprints, and a lone witness. Wiping away the cloud of wetness from the corners of my eyes I finally turned around slowly to see him, afraid of what reaction I might find.

"Mort…"

Very little sense was entering my mind, it was like taking a bullet to the last good brain cell I had, the confession couldn't have come closer to an out of body experience, or what I assumed it must feel like. Part of me was drifting away to safety, while the other half was grounded, shocked, staring at her back from a good ten feet away and behind bars. _She's pregnant…she's pregnant with my child. Mine. Ours. _I wanted to run to her, throw my arms around her, kiss her, take her away from here and tell her how much I loved her, and our baby. _A baby, our baby? No way…_

Dave was mumbling something about her mother, her grandmother, I didn't know, I couldn't hear anything but the inside of my head shaking. Eventually I noticed Roxanne turning to face me, and my knuckles brazen and gripping to the bars, then my eyes found hers, soaked with tears, glistening in sadness I couldn't heal for once, and her voice, which nearly killed me this time around. "Mort…" It wasn't a solid greeting, it wasn't a statement really, or a question, it was a whisper of some strange guilt she'd been holding onto. This I couldn't understand.

"Y-you're really…"

"Yes." She firmly concluded, reaching the cage again, her hands not moving up to mine but remaining still at her sides. "I took a test this morning."

I could kill Dave now, literally at this point, for having locked me up on a day like today. One where I should have been at home waiting for her, waiting for a surprise, for her to tell me about what she'd discovered, for her to cry and be scared and worry with me there. Instead she had me in jail, and I couldn't do a damn thing behind four inch metal rods, other than reach out to take her hand and squeeze it. I didn't say anything, I didn't want to, I just wanted her to see my eye contact and feel me despite the odds, for her to know I couldn't be happier, with a smile. We ignored Dave for a moment longer while she smiled back, and stared like I'd never seen her stare at me before, no one ever had that way.

"There's nothing we can do for you Roxanne. Mort has to stay in our custody until he's been questioned in the city tomorrow. Now come on, you've gotta leave." It was no use, she had to go, there was no chance in hell Dave was going to let me walk free, at least not until it could be proven that I was innocent this time. But I noticed a small twitch of light in Roxanne's eyes as Dave finalized the visit, that green cadence I loved so much, something that said she wasn't done with her plan yet, that there was more. She leaned up to the bars and pressed her lips against the left side of my face opposite the officers, hiding from their ears as she whispered to me, "Don't fall asleep…" then left a warm kiss at my jaw and walked away towards the door. Her sway was light again all of a sudden, her smile sweeter, her presence a glow. I knew this energy, I'd seen Amy go through this, I'd seen other women who had this spark about them. It was pregnancy, it was love, it was the glow of a woman with a scheme in her head, a plot in her step. _God she kills me. _

* * *

It was only late afternoon by the time Dave finally managed to kick me out. I thought about waiting up at the cabin, or maybe going back home for a while, doing some painting, anything to occupy myself for a few hours, at least until eleven or so when I knew the Sheriff would be at home asleep. If there was always one thing Newsome had underestimated, it was the criminal in me; I think it's something he'd forgotten about over the years. When I lived on the lake with my grandparents it had been me and Billy who'd left the trail of tacks in the diner parking lot. It was Alex who had convinced me it would be fun to bury old lady Keller's cat in the sand banks at the fishing docks. All miniscule scheming in comparison to the attempt I was about to make, but then again, Alex and Billy hadn't been the father of my child. The stakes were higher now, they were everything in fact and I wasn't about to let Dave ruin another chapter of my life the way my mother and father had already done with the first. It was my chance now to be the mother that Annie Hayden had never been to me, and as strange as it was for me to accept, it was happening, inside of me.

I drove through to the south end of town where I knew Pete's would be open, and decided to wait out my cue at the bar, relax my mind for a while. Once inside Pete had immediately pulled me down and talked my ears off with his compliments, and memories, and questions. I hadn't seen very many people I knew since being in town; I had been too occupied at the lake, and with someone more important to me. But now, at a time when everything was going nuts, it felt good to find myself at seven years old again.

"Wouldn't have recognized ya if it hadn't been for that freckle on your nose, little girl. Ya gone and grown up so much since you were here last. What was that…six years ago now?"

"Something like that Pete, a long time."

"Sure has been, your grandma would always stop by and say you were coming to town, that her little Roxy was coming to stay with her for the weekend, or the holiday. But you never came, guess you were gettin' mighty busy with that big job of yours."

Listening to what he was telling me was slowly breaking my heart more and more, the thoughts of my grandmother having waited for me, expected me to come back to her, when I was only two hours away. I mean heck, I'd driven back and forth from New York to Tashmore at least ten times since I'd been here, and I couldn't give my grandmother one weekend? Such is the life of someone I used to be, Roxy Love. And now the house was mine, she'd left everything she had in the world to me, and I cherished it more as the seconds with Pete's stories continued. It was the smartest decision I had made all week to swing by for a drink, cranberry juice of course and especially after I had begun to tell him about the news.

"Isn't that somethin' else….little Roxanne Hayden having a baby. I didn't even know you were married now darlin'?" _Cliché small town, gotta be married to get knocked up. _I laughed it off as I continued to explain to him the dilemma.

"I'm not married Pete, only with someone, Mort Rainey."

"Oh," he stated flatly, as I took it for an understanding of what had gone on in town today. But before I could assure him of Mort's innocence or how much I loved him, I heard a gritty cough spill out from the end of the bar, and turned in distraction to see a man in the shadows, his baseball cap pulled down low over his face, a sweating glass of rum twisted in his hand. A chill ran up my spine at the sight of him, a bizarre familiarity, and then he spoke, "Morton Rainey…e's gonna get his."

"E-excuse me?" I offered, darting my eyes to Pete before I could return to the man and his words.

"I said…Mr. Rainey is in for it. He's done been caught up on, ya know."

"He's innocent."

"Ha," The man cackled while Pete walked away to clean dirty glasses at the other end of the bar. "E' hasn't been innocent since Chicago." _What? Chicago? _I thought about the hint, I remembered it from Mort's story, he'd been born and raised in Chicago. That's what he left, that's the place he had to get out of, hide from. "The past is' catching up with that boy real good. You can tell him I said so, when you see him again. _If _you see him again." He chuckled crudely, choked back the rum and dropped a twenty on the bar top before walking out of the door into the glowing night of the town's end. I didn't know what to think or believe about it, I had never even caught the man's face, only his voice which seemed overpowered by a sickness in his gut. The entire scene scared me more than I had already been, but I ordered another drink, did some writing on napkins for a while, talked with Pete's wife and waited for the clock above the bar to strike eleven o'clock. Which it eventually did, and with a smile, a wave and a few more congratulations on my way out, I got in my car and drove back towards the Sheriff's office, determined to right at least one wrong.

* * *

_Don't fall asleep…don't….fall…asleep. Ok. Listen to her, there's a reason for it. Don't. Fall. Asleep._ Not being entirely too sure on her motives, I only relaxed on the makeshift cot in the corner of the cell, listening to the sounds of a distant keyboard, something cackling on the TV and a vending machine dropping a coke. My fingertips were tapping in a lingering tune, something classic and only fleeting when Dave approached the bars with a scowl and threw the coke between to hit me in the chest. "Don't dehydrate on my watch. Wait till you get to Brooklyn."

"The Sheriff has a heart…" I grinned and flipped open the can, drinking it down as he explained himself to me.

"It's ten thirty, which means I get to go home, and you…get to stay here with Steven." Sitting up I saw Steve glancing over with a nod and a pencil in my direction, and then I rolled my eyes and fell back to the wall. "No trouble tonight Mr. Rainey."

"Or what, you'll take away my Coca Cola privileges?"

He said nothing, only tilted his head away and walked from the bars, a few short noises being made, a "Night Steve," and the slamming of his office door at a distance. I let the moisture from the can fall onto the leg of my jeans for a few minutes, watching it perspire with the heat of the room, thinking about what I would give to be perspiring in other ways than this. My head fell back to the wall again, and not realizing how tired I really was my eyes closed, and my mind swarmed with thoughts and ideas, dreams of a most worthy nature.

"_Wrong cupboard, Mr. Rainey. You know what that means?"_

"_Tell me." I said, leaning over the kitchen table with a bare chest and modestly held in my boxers as she smiled up to me and reached out with warm hands. "I get these now…" She replied coyly, tucking her fingers inside the waistband of the last thing holding me together, sliding them down carefully to taunt me with her gaze. "And you…get to finish cooking my dinner." _

"_God bless the person who invented spaghetti." I smirked and bent down to kiss her hard on the lips…all else failing me…_

* * *

_11:14 _, _Dave's car is gone. Just a patrol. One light on...I'll bet that front door is locked. _I sat in the car with the headlights and engine cut, listening to Bob Dylan low on the radio, trying to decide what to do. If the front door was locked then I'd have to try the back, which would more than likely be open. _Shit. _I took the key out and ran up the steps quickly, looking around the street to make sure no one was within earshot, and of course they weren't, this was Tashmore Lake at quarter past eleven on a Wednesday. _May as well be Mayberry, for God's sake. _

I held my jacket closer against the cool nip in the air, reached for the doorknob, turned and…_are you kidding me? Unlocked. Who the hell leaves the Sheriff's office unlocked in the middle of the night? _Laughing at the immediate ease of my plot, I crept inside and closed the door gently behind me. Dave's office was empty with the lights out, but the general noise was coming from further down the hall where I had been before, the "holding cell". The tile wasn't going to work well with my heels, so I took them off and continued barefoot until I had reached the door to the opposing room where I knew they were keeping Mort, and I could just make out the faint sounds of a television and laughter. My mind started to work immediately, shifting with ideas until I came upon the best option for the spur of the moment jail break I was about to attempt. At the front desk of the building there was a brochure holder, one of those goofy things that spins around and merely serves the purpose of giving visitors to the town a list of events and things to do. It was rather pointless for a town like this, but it would work. I reached out and shoved it from the desk to the tile floor, cracking its plastic shaft into a dozen pieces, papers flying everywhere, and the sound echoing through the halls. And then I hid, _duh._

* * *

_My hands were rough against the countertop, lowering by body in towards hers, nearly dripping wet for one another. The spaghetti had long since been forgotten, and now the only thing on my mind were her thighs tight against my waist, her mouth hot on my neck, her hands lost somewhere in my hair as she pulled me to her, quickly, closely, driving down into…_

**CRASH! **My eyes immediately flew open to nothing but what I had grown accustomed to throughout the day. "What the hell?" I heard Steve shout from his desk, in between paid audience laughter on an episode of Friends. _What a pussy…_I thought, trying to collect the tightness that had arisen in my jeans at some point, the moisture within them that I could hardly fight off. Before I had a chance to hide it though, Steve had run off through the door to where the noise had come from, and of course my mind never ventured to give it a single thought. I was too busy trying to find the focus again, I needed her so bad it hurt, it really, really, _really fucking hurt!_

* * *

Rushing footsteps soon followed my disaster, a couple of doorways being opened, a jangle of keys, and then I saw Stevie, _good ole' Steve. Idiot. _Steve was the reason I had gotten caught for the thumbtacks in the road, the cat in the banks of the lake, everything since 86'. I had no remorse now, he was on Dave's side. As he ran into the main hall of the building he looked around at the mysterious mess, while I crouched in an opposing doorway. As soon as I saw him dive around to the other side of the desk to begin cleanup detail, I darted for the open door leading in to where Mort was, dropping my heel on accident and catching his attention. Just as I made it inside of the room, I shut the door and locked it behind me mere seconds before Steve made it to the glass window separating us, glaring at me and yelling in a near muffled silence. "Roxanne, you open this damn door! Open it!"

I only glared at him through the glass, twitched my nose in ignorance and kissed the window at him before running off between his shouting and pounding. _Thank God it locks from the inside…_

* * *

I'd managed to stand up, brush off what I could of my issue, and hold close to the bars as I heard slamming doors, quieted shouting, and the smack of bare feet on tile. I had in my mind what it was, who it was and what was about to happen, and just as I was about convince myself of the name, she threw open the door.

"Mort!" She shouted with a wide grin but nervous bolt towards me. Indeed her shoes were off, well…shoe. To keep myself from laughing I only watched her as she came closer, "Shit," she concluded with a halt at the door to the cell, eyes wide with something resembling a mistake on her part. "What the fuck did you do out there?" I said with a hold on her hand as her eyes scanned the room, "Had to have a diversion…"

"Keys?"

"Um…" she replied with a nervous smile, "I forgot that part." I couldn't help it that time and just gurgled a laugh, still feeling the burn below when she leaned in through the bars to kiss me finally, both of our minds a rush of how to get the lock open. Once she pulled back and began scanning the room again, pushing papers away in search of anything sharp or small enough to twist the lock, I noticed her hair was pinned up from the tangled mess it was before. _Hmm…a hundred bucks says…_"Hey Rox!" Turning around quickly she looked at me, "Yeah?"

"Come here a sec." Confused, she came over and taking her face in my hands I searched out the hair at the back of her neck, feeling around for a second as she laughed, "What the heck are you doing?" _Aha. Knew it. _I pulled a bobby pin from her curls and drew it out for her view, "How did you think of that?"

"Remind me to tell you the story sometime." Eyeing me with a smirk, I stuck the pin inside of the lock, luckily it was a smaller one or it would have never worked. It took forever as she stood by anxiously, checking out the window for any passing cars or coming signals, and with a few more slight cracks of the pin in the hole the lock spun open and she pulled at the door. I didn't waste any time, I couldn't waste any more time on this earth without her knowing what she meant to me, especially now. I flew out and immediately caught her as she jumped into my arms, legs finding an enclosure of my waist, lips melding to every square inch of my face and neck. To say I was satisfied would be wrong, to say I was happy or felt glorified would be false, I was content in that moment. The rush of watching this woman whom I loved more than I ever had loved anything before, concoct a plan of action in my escape from jail, to feel her hot lips down my neck, across my nose, eyes, ears, every part of me showing, it was contentment in the most disguising of forms.

"I love you…I love you so much…so, so, so much!" She chanted hugging my neck tighter as I held her waist from the ground.

"Think Newsome would appreciate us christening his desk?" Giggling into my neck she had only the important response, "Would be fun, but we gotta go."

"Yeah, let's get the hell out of here." Dropping her down to her feet again, she took my hand and pulled me out of the back door to the building, out into the fresh air again. Her car was parked close by which was smart thinking on her part, and we jumped inside and took off back towards the house, not really sure about a single thing but getting out of the town. I watched her as she skidded across the roads, gravel, dirt, my own personal Mario Andretti, the Billie Frechette to my Dillinger. Content…_I'm content finally. Screwed. Fucked. In deep shit. But I'm with her again, a baby somewhere between us, and that makes me content for now._


	14. Ready To Run

**Chapter 14: Ready to Run**

"Where are we going?" The peace was finally broken as we corned the lake upwards to the cabin, I was only driving to a place I knew, and not a place I thought would actually be safe or smart. Mort was exhausted beside me, but perked up slightly at the question. "Somewhere else that's for damn sure."

"Yeah, but where Mort…" I smiled over at him, my hand patting his thigh to wake him up further. "We need to get Reilly, clothes, and then what? Come on…wake up, help me."

"Oh ok, I'm helping." He grunted and sat up further as I pulled up at the porch, headlights gleaming on the house. "We need to get Reilly."

"Yeah…" I returned mockingly, "And…?"

"Clothes."

"And…?"

"A place to go." At his response I rolled my eyes with a huff and jumped out of the car heading for the porch, knowing he was too tired to even think. It took him nearly twenty minutes to come inside and meet me while I gathered food for Reilly, packed some clothes for him, and grabbed whatever I could find that was mine. He came stumbling in with a wearied disposition, haggard smile, and an arm around my waist from where I was packing at the bed. His breath on my neck was warm as he spoke tiredly, "South or North?"

"Huh?"

"Are we running south or north?"

"I don't know…south?"

"Ok…" He began; pulling me from packing and with a turn brought me to face him, his hands wandering over my waist and jeans drunkenly. "East or west?"

"West."

"How far west?" He pushed further, letting small kisses linger on my neck and shoulders. "As far as we can get…" It was the sloppiest plan in the history of the world, to top the jail break plot of mine that had placed us in an even worse situation, but Mort didn't seem upset by any of it, it was almost as if he had been looking for an excuse to leave here finally anyway. _Was I his final excuse to move on? _ It was a scary thought, induced by the feeling of his lips, his hands winding themselves up the back of my sweater, and I couldn't bring myself to move. In one week the world had turned upside down on both of us, murder in my backyard, confessing our sins, being pregnant, and now a run out west to escape the law. I could have never imagined any of this would happen, in a place like Tashmore, a place that had been so safe to me as a kid. But yet again, through it all, it was his arms that kept me the safest, and it broke my heart to have to leave them to finish packing.

We managed to load his Jeep up with everything in only twenty minutes or so, get Reilly situated and by Mort's suggestion, switch the license plates on our cars. With a bit of coffee he insisted on driving out of town, but also begged me to stay awake and talk to him so he wouldn't fall asleep. Which was an easy thing to say yes to, and as we followed the Tashmore limits out to the highway, and even further south to Norwich, I conversed as I was told to.

"I can't believe you're pregnant," he smiled.

"Why's that?"

"I don't know, I guess I just never thought I'd get to hear that kind of news again."

"Are you scared?" With this question he looked at me as if I'd asked something odd, and only let his hand meet the slight of my stomach over my sweater. "It's the first time I've been unafraid in fifteen years actually."

"You don't think it's too soon for this?"

"Do you?"

"I asked you first." He rolled his eyes at me shortly with a chuckle before focusing back on the road and thinking. I too dwelled on it, while waiting for his reply. "No, I don't. Life's supposed to be about surprises right? The unexpected…? Like a Rolling Stone journalist in a black bikini inheriting the house next door?"

He was good, I could always give Mort that much, and resting my hand over his at my stomach I nodded with a grin, looking to see the yellow flash on the fuel meter.

"We need gas."

I pulled off into an ancient gas station at a corner crossroads a few minutes later, the clock revealing that it was still the middle of the night, and only one other car parked off at a distance, which I assumed to be the owners. Roxanne ran towards the restroom that was outside while I went inside to pay and buy a few things to eat, some chips, beer, ice cream at her request. And sixty bucks later went back out to fill the tank up, the car radio casually filling the cold air in the middle of nowhere with lyrics, my boot tapping on the ground between car and pump, breath humming in the space in front of me. It wasn't even October yet and I guessed it must have been at least fifty degrees, way too cold to be in a place I didn't know, but I finished filling the tank and stood at the back of the Jeep waiting for Roxanne. It had been at least twenty minutes since we'd stopped and she was still in the restroom, which concerned me slightly, but only enough to make me tap my boot harder on the cement.

At a distance I could see the lone Chevy parked at the side of the store, hidden between two large oak trees, a lone lamppost glowing above it. Even though it appeared to be empty, something about it made me nervous, a gut instinct I guess. Another five minutes passed and when there was no sign of her coming out, I pushed my weight off the back of the car and walked towards the side of the building where she'd run off to. There was a women's restroom closest to the entrance of the store, a rusted old door, and I knocked on it roughly. "Rox, you ok?"

No answer. It couldn't have been more than one stall at the most, a single bathroom. I knocked a second time, swifter, with a louder call and an ear to the door, but nothing. No water running, no footsteps, nothing at all until I heard a shuffle of a body, no voices, only movement. "Roxanne?!" I yelled, pushing my shoulder into the door and twisting at the knob, shoving all of my weight into it, but it would hardly move. "Fucking open!" It was the sound of her voice, or rather the sound of her crying out in pain that made me begin to kick the door, consistently with the heel of my boot, once, twice, three times, the lock coming further and further off the hinges the more she yelled. There was a tumbling of bodies from one wall to another, to the floor I assumed, everywhere I wasn't. "God damnit!"

"Mort…!"

"Fuck, fuck…." And finally with one last jolt of my foot towards the doorknob it fell off clearly, and her yelling ceased immediately, as the door swung open. The light had been turned off but I could still make out her body crumpled in the corner of the small space and fell in and to her side immediately. From the glow of the lamppost outside of the bathroom I could see the blood trailing from her nose and lip, and pulled her onto my lap as she winced in pain, her arms falling away limp, her legs coiled in a knot as I held her to me. She continuously shivered, the cold hair outside sinking into both our bones, and her tears fell against my jacket, "Its ok, you're ok," I whispered and brushed her hair away from her face. "Rox, who the hell was it? Did you see them?"

"N-no…" She coughed back while I lifted her up to hold a paper towel to her nose, catching the dripping bleed. The tears, sweat and blood mixed together at her chin helplessly, her hands were pressed into my chest to steady herself, to gain some sort of conscious thought while I watched her eyes tip and waver from mine to the floor, the wall and back. But seeing her gaze fall across to a window high above in the wall, I noticed it was latched open to where the asshole had escaped my reputation. "Did they say anything?"

"H-he said…to t-tell '_Benny'_ that…." She stopped with a heavy breath and another sick cough, "Tell Benny what?"

"T-that they're…watching him, y-you." Before I was even able to process the thought, Roxanne's head fell forward to my shoulder in unconsciousness, and I lifted her body from the floor to carry away. Standing in the open air of the parking lot was the station owner from inside, holding his jacket closely, and begging to offer assistance of any kind, which I assured him wasn't necessary. When I made it to the car, Reilly jumped in the front seat as I slid her across the back with a pillow, not sure how much longer to keep driving until I could stop for the night, find a room for a while, or how long it would be until she woke up. The only thing to think about now was distancing us from New York, and to figure out what the hell she was talking about, and who the fuck it was who knew about Ben, about me.

* * *

Everything was heavy, like the whole world was sitting on my chest. My skin felt like it was on fire one moment, and then I found myself crawling further into the warmth of wherever I was another. I couldn't open my eyes; I felt bruises on them, or something close to it. When I tried to breathe, I was let down by the pain in my ribs. My toes, a hundred- thousand miles away, were tingling with the pressure of my mind. And in all of this I could hear a soft hum of voices, out in a far white distance, one I couldn't reach and could only slightly accept. But that same distance was enclosing as I felt myself falling awake from the pain, my eyes shifting inside my skull, thighs tightening with a pull of reality, hands gripping to something spongy under my head, a pillow.

"_**I…I can't wear this puffy shirt on TV…I mean look at it…it looks ridiculous…"**_

_Familiar. I can hear it, and sense it, but can't see it yet. There's someone moving close by, Mort; please let it be Mort._ Tucking the pillow further under my head for comfort I turned on my side, finally beginning to grasp what I was hearing and where I might be.

"_**This pirate trend that she's come up with, Jerry, this…this is gonna be the new look of the 90's. You're gonna be the first pirate!" **_

_Seinfeld…only Mort_, I thought widening my eyes just as the words left my lips in a low grumble. "But, I don't wanna be a pirate…" and then I saw him, smile wide, a quiet chuckle as he eased from a second bed to kneel on the floor beside where I was laying down. It was a motel, not a half bad one either from what I could make out through the blur, and just past his head. Mort's eyes were warm when I finally caught a focus on them, his hair and skin soft from a shower it seemed, and all I wanted was to reach out to him, but my arm was cramped from sleeping on it. So he came to me instead, sweeping the hair out of my eyes with a stroke at my cheek, and kissed my forehead. "How you feeling?"

"Uh…" I tried, mumbling with my lips pressed into the pillow still, probably drooling. "My head hurts."

"Yeah…you took some pretty good hits, by that asshole…" there was a sense of guilt in his voice, although I didn't blame him for what little I could remember, he tried to open the door, I do recall that, his kicking, yelling, trying. "I'm really sorry this happened, God…I tried to get in there."

"I know that. Don't be sorry, I'm ok." I replied, sitting up higher against the pillows and searching around to see my surroundings in full. What I really wanted was an aspirin and glass of wine, I could have one, but the other had to wait another 8 months now. _Damn. _"I need some aspirin, my head is killing me."

"I'll get some, hold on." Letting go of my hand he travelled off into the small bathroom, a clanking of glass being made, a shuffle of bags and then the sound of pills falling from a bottle to palm as he came back to the bed and handed them to me. "Thanks," I took them selfishly, downing with water, and tossing my head back again with a grunt of aching pain, it was everywhere now. I wasn't sure how long I had even been out, _day's maybe?_ _No, I doubt it. But who really knows at this point._ I felt Reilly's head rest on my thigh, and I moved my hand down to stroke his ears. When I opened my eyes again Mort was still sitting on the edge of the bed next to me, his hand at my opposite side, holding me to him. All I wanted to do was thank him properly, spend an unforgettable night under the aged sheets of a motel in god knows where. I hated being so weak, so dependent on him, especially now when he needed my help. He was, after all, the escaped convicted, and I merely the accomplice. _God I love the sound of that, is that so wrong? _

"Want me to turn the TV off so you can get some rest?"

"No…no. I've been sleeping, I wanna stay up. What time is it?"

"4:30."

"A.M?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, dropping another kiss to my forehead. It was cute but I felt now he was reacting far too tenderly, being delicate for a reason other than romance, like he was scared to touch me in any other way after what had happened, as if I would break. That upset me, because I didn't want him afraid for me, especially now. "Hey Sparky?" _Not even sure where that came from, but it suits him. Mort can be a regular Clark Griswold at times. _He laughed at that and replied with a simple, "Yeah?"

"When are you going to kiss me for real? You don't have to be so…"

"So what?"

"Careful."

She was right, I was acting ridiculous. What had happened to her was terrible, yes. And I wanted to find the fucker who did it and kill him, yes absolutely. But I hadn't hurt her, and because I never would, I shouldn't treat her with this insane reserve. I need to just be what she wants me to be, I need to just be myself and nothing else.

A second later I moved down to her body's warmth, resting against her chest, and crashing upon her hungry mouth, just the way I liked it. But before I could even attempt to meet her tongue, she'd managed to pull at my shirt until I had fallen to the mattress next to her as Reilly jumped up quickly to avoid injury and her laughter rose while she moved to lay out on top of me, her legs somewhere between mine, chests pressed together, and her lips giving mine a run for their money. Despite everything that had already happened in the last twenty four hours, she hadn't changed one bit, if anything she was more willing to be herself and be with me.

When she pulled back for oxygen and a smile, I held her face in my hands and peered upwards to see the cut at the corner of her lower lip, dried of blood now, as well as the scrapes on her cheek and forehead. These were her battle wounds for having saved my ass and fled into oblivion, being caught up with by someone, someone who knew me, the old me, the real me. It still didn't make any sense what they were trying to prove by hurting Roxanne, but it was a sure enough sign that it wouldn't be the last of the imminent danger.

"You are so beautiful." I stated solidly, a grin creeping across her lips as she moved back to mine, kissing lightly in appreciation. When she fell from my body to tumble into the sheets beside me, her hands roamed from my face to chest and lower stomach desperately until she whispered, "Make love to me Mort…please, make it all just go away." I understood her perfectly, the disappearing act she wished for, what she needed me to overshadow and how she knew I could, _and will. _"I don't want to think about it anymore tonight…just you, plea--"

I cut her off quickly, pushing back to hold her body underneath mine in the soft center of the mattress. Sparing wasted time she pulled the loose white t-shirt over my head, tossed it away and massaged my shoulders with warm fingertips, while mine unhooked her sweater button by button. It was a mad frenzy, how I had never expected it to be after what she'd been through, but it was what she needed it seemed and this was proved to me stroke by stroke, her hands meeting the button of my jeans with force. I practically ripped the sweater from her body, leaving a pink bra for reveal in the low light of the TV and flickering **MOTEL** glow outside of the window. I felt her body arch into mine roughly every time my hand touched open skin, and tugged the sweatpants from her legs to the floor below. She laughed at my own thrill, leaning up to nip at the tender skin of my neck, with a soft bite, a weary lick or two until I was able to regain control.

Left to only boxers and lingerie, the task of getting to work was already a half won battle, one I gladly accepted the challenge of, slowly pulling her pink lace garments away one after the other. I'd missed this feeling of initial passion that had come from our first night together in the city, that reaction to both wine and the experience of having her finally, everything now felt so similar, as if it were the first time all over again. I left leisured kisses from her head to toes, while Reilly barked at the view, and Roxanne laughed crazily, begging me to forget about intimacies for once. "Someone's anxious…" I grinned with a tickling kiss at her stomach in gesture to her newfound state, "Here's the result of that desperation, ya know." My mouth stayed at her navel, circling and lapping with tongue and heat as her hips wove against my chest. Pulling my body further up to meet her lips again, I found her frantic, with arms squeezing my neck as our tongues met savagely, Reilly still barking in the corner of the room, "Shut up, Rye!"

Another wave of kisses, a loose promise of love, compassion, all of that nonsense that wasn't worth a damn between the two of us on this night, led to her hands winding around the hardened shaft I'd settled against the center of her body. And with a smug grin as my only apprehension, she led me towards her, the wetness covering me slowly with entrance, the heat engrossing, the core of her tight around me. The pressure was nearly unbearable for not only me, but from what I sensed at her expressive moan, her as well. It was every bit of frustration, anger, sadness, fear of the last twenty four hours or so, boiling into one connection, sliding into her further as she gripped at my back, her knees pressed firmly into my sides, feet digging into cotton sheets. Taking a breath, I let her catch hers for a minute until I heard her giggling below me, and looked down to see it. With anyone else in the world, this probably would have been the part of the night where everything ended, and the supply would deflate to uselessness. But right then as I looked down upon her, I noticed the innocence in her, something I had yet to really see. She'd always appeared as a perfectly mature New York writer, with a witty sense of humor, a very adult presence, a moment or two of playfulness, but nothing like this. This was Roxanne at age seven, age eight, nine, which in a way made me feel awkward with the current position, but at the same time it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen before.

"Something funny?"

"Just life." She replied in all seriousness, looking up into my eyes with that tantalizing emerald glow, "Life is just funny right now." _Jesus, she couldn't be more accurate if she tried. Life is funny right now. _Easing down again with laughter against her lips, I felt her press for the motion she wanted, the act that had nearly been forgotten, and I pulled back to gain a momentum and restore her body once again with mine. Each thrust battled the speed and stroke of the ones before them, until I had nothing more than everything to give her, and the insides of her body tingled around mine, forced it all out of me. It was funny as hell, the entire thing in fact, a sexy kind of amusement you can only truly experience when things can't get any worse or any better, all in the same moment. I made love to the woman I love, felt myself inside the safety of her body, where settled the living being I'd helped to create. As far as I was concerned at that point, they could take everything from Mort Rainey, they could have him. But the one thing they couldn't take was the one thing Roxanne had given me back; myself, the man I was prepared to be for her, for the baby. Yeah sure, my name was Mort, as proven by her insistent moaning, but I wasn't Mort. I didn't kill anyone. I didn't marry Amy. I never left Chicago really. I couldn't feel him anymore, all I could sense now was the beat of a heart at my ear, and the impression of another human's breathing; I could feel life again, and if it meant having to run forever to hold onto that sensation, I was more than ready.


	15. Clear the Area

**Chapter 15: Clear the Area**

_Comfortable…comfortable…so…comfy. _The only thing holding our modesty by seven AM was the thin and overused white cotton of the sheets. Roxanne's breathing pattern was heaving in a melody against my chest as I pulled her closer to me in sleep, never wanting to actually open my eyes and ruin it. I was blind to the world around me, all the shit following me, everything that could and surely would go wrong once I could see again. With my arm snug across her waist, and my arm reaching up to hers across the pillow, I tapped my finger to her heartbeat, noticing the increase with the mood in her dreams, nearly matching a tune I knew well.

_Hmm..hm..hmm…_I hummed quietly, listening to nothing but her. _Hmm…hm…Is there anybody…going to listen…to my story…_Her wrist twitched to take hold of my hand tighter, pulling it in to her chin, resting upon it. _All about the girl who came to stay….hmm….hm...hm… _Leaning down to her neck I kissed between long curls, no intention of waking her, only reminding her I was still there. And just as I began to settle in against her again, my nose pressed into the nape of her neck, the sweet strawberry lingering there, I was rattled out of sleep by an interruption. It was always an interruption.

Ring. _Damn phone. Don't answer it, stay right where you are. _

Ring. _Fuckers. I'm ignoring you._

Ring. "Mort…the phone…" _Damn, she was awake now. _I leaned over her towards the nightstand and grabbed hold of the puke green receiver, tucking it to my ear as she squirmed under me. "Hel-lo?" I asked gruffly, my throat dry and coarse.

"Wake up call for a Mr. Benjamin Miller." And then I froze. Nothing. Only screaming in the back of my mind, horrid, rancid screams. I slammed the phone down against the hook again quickly, eyes wide, body going numb, and Roxanne startled in the process. "Who was it?" No answer came from me. "Mort…?"

My eyes were subconsciously directed to the front door of the room, I noticed shadows wavering past the curtains, my every sense heightened now, rising to grab the clothes off the floor and toss them to her, "Get dressed."

"Mort's what's goin--"

"Shh…" I warned, leaning back down to place my hand over her lips, still focusing on the door. "Just get dressed, quick."

While she was occupied with getting on her jeans and a sweatshirt, I threw on a pair of boxers and packed up everything into one bag, leaving most of the clothes and other crap laying around, not concerned with it. And just as I stood and lifted the bag, a pounding fist met with our door, Roxanne nearly screeching but covering her mouth while she stood staring at the doorknob, it jiggling violently. "Benny! Benny Miller, open up!" The keys were on the table at the opposite side of the room, and I darted for them right in front of the window, snatching them away as the doorknob came loose from its hinge and the doors screws unwound themselves with all of the kicking. "Come on Ben, we…know…you're in there!" _We….there's more than one? Shit. Who the fuck are these guys? _Skidding across the worn carpet again I saw Roxanne standing immobilized in the middle of the room, watching the door in fear for her life, and just as the door flung open and smashed against the radiator behind it, I tucked my arm around her waist and pulled as hard as I could with her screaming.

The bathroom had a large window I remembered from the night before, and locking the door behind us, I dropped her in the direction of the shower, and jammed open the glass and screen. "Go, quick!" Doing as she was told, I had gotten her halfway through the window when the pounding started on the new door, yelling, cursing, kicking, "Open this fucking door, Ben! You're in deep shit buddy!" The bag flew out the window after her, and then stepping onto the porcelain soap holder with my bare foot, I pushed my body up and barely through the opening. The door was nearing its finish on the hinges from the rattling cracks I could hear, and Roxanne held my hands as tight as she could while I forced myself through the window, knees wedged for an added moment of trauma, before I fell out completely, the door shattering to pieces at a distance. After pulling me up from the ground, Roxanne tugged me in the direction of the Jeep around the opposite side of the building, the bag dragging against the ground with weight, and keys shaking in my hand. By the time we made it to the car there were a dozen spectators shouting at us, curious about the noise, and then two gunshots ringing out above the calls and fear. Slamming each door and not thinking seriously about seatbelts, I fired the engine with a lead foot and backed out into the open parking lot, smoke and tires screeching, and almost taking off, until Roxanne stopped me, "Wait!" She yelled, sticking her head out of the window of the car, "Reilly! Come on, Rye!" And like clockwork the pain in the ass actually came bolting out of the front door to the room, drool flying in the wind as she opened the door for him to jump up into her lap.

With a cloud of dust we heard two more gunshots fizzle out on the tail end of the Jeep, close but not quite close enough for us. Again, there was no plan, especially now in fact. The only thing I knew was that I planned on driving, barefoot and out of breath, I had to outrun the bastards.

* * *

We were a mile or so down the road at least before Mort looked at me again, almost as if he didn't believe I was still there, still holding onto to what his life had become over a two week stretch. And I returned the gesture, eyes locked on nothing but him, hoping he meant to speak soon.

"Are you okay?" His eyes darted from the road to me, back and forth while I sat motionless and without response. "Roxanne…you hear me?" Of course I heard him; I was just trying to find the right words to explain what was going through my mind, gunshots lingering off in the back of my mind somewhere. "You're ok aren't you?!" This time I felt his hand touch my knee with a careful hold, while he continued steering off wildly.

"Should I be?" I honestly didn't mean for it to sound so harsh, sarcastic maybe, but never mean. Mort eyes grew fierce beneath his glasses; his eyebrows pushed together in a look of confusion, and for that matter mine were probably as well. "I would like to know you are…if that's any consolation?"

"I think I've been better." Again the rude sarcasm was filtering through without my approval and I couldn't stop it, or the crossing of my arms in upheaval.

"You're mad at me? For what happened back there!?" His tone too was deepening into anger, his hands lifting from their position at the wheel for emphasis. "How was I supposed to know, Roxanne?"

"I don't know."

"No you don't. I got you out of there, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you, I thought so." He finished, throwing his hands to the wheel again, and a grunt in his throat. "Jesus…"

"They had a gun, Mort. A _gun…_! And they tried to kill us…these aren't cops."

"Probably not."

"So…"

"So what?"

"So what the hell are we supposed to do, just keep driving until they meet us in the next town?"

"I don't know!" He yelled back, grinding the pedal against the floor for speed on the one lane road, an empty back road. "You're right you don't know either, we need a plan…and you obviously don't have one….do you?!"

"Just let me think about--"

"Stop the car…" Cutting him off I felt sickness rising in my gut, my head was drowning in pain, dizziness.

"I can't yet."

"Mort, stop the car!" He looked over to me out of the corner of his angered eyes to see my face hunched down between my legs, my hand tugging at the handle of the car door, and that's when he spun off onto the side of the road. I felt the entire car grind at the grassy edge of the tar, as the Jeep came to a halt and I pushed my way out of the door and into the knee high wildflowers. After a few paces with my hand over my mouth, I could hear Mort's bare feet tackling the road as he came around to where I was, already purging whatever my stomach had left in it. He tried to come close to me and grab my hair but I pushed him away angrily, the first I'd ever been at him. But he didn't heed this and only returned, taking every strand of curls into his hands and rubbing my back, and I far too gone and engrossed to care anymore. The taste in my mouth was only worsened by the fact that we were standing targets where we were, and I wiped away the vomit from my lips to the sleeve of my sweater, and then walked away from him to return to the car. Sitting down slowly I kept my legs dangling out onto the grass, examining my toes for some reason, trying to clear my head. Mort came soon enough, kneeling down in front of me on the side of the car, his hands on my legs, his eyes searching upward at mine.

"Rox…I--"

"Don't." I concluded with interruption, wiping away the mascara still smudged into my eyes from the day before. And then spinning my legs away from his hands, and my eyes away from his worry, spoke softly, "Let's just go." Slamming the door in his wake I leaned in against the seat, watching him outside of my window for a good five seconds, the corner of my eye catching his saddened form. He walked around and got back on, turned the car on and drove on, not saying a word, and not needing to. We'd both underestimated the chase, and just who it might be hunting for him, that mob he'd mentioned, someone who wanted him dead or dead, with no exception. And I, the one carrying his child, was just as guilty by association of love.

No plan. Half a tank. Silence. We'd have to stop sooner or later.

* * *

**2 hours later…**

**Martin's Ferry**_**, Ohio**_

"Hmm…hmm…here comes the story of the hurricane…" I was asleep. Wasn't I? I could hear him in my sleep or my half sleep at least. The truck was slowing a bit when I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt away from my face; it had been there for hours now at least. When I did though, I looked over to see Mort tapping on the steering wheel and putting the car into park somewhere…I shifted my eyes between the wool of my hood, _gas station. _

"He could have been…the champion of the world…hmm hmm…" His singing continued, almost as if I wasn't there at all, _am I?_ I thought, trying to convince myself it wasn't a dream, that if I moved my hand out I could feel him…_I can feel him. But I'm mad at him still right…am I? Damn, I don't even know. _He turned around at the touch of my hand on his shoulder, startled almost, "Oh hey, you're awake." It was a statement, bland, emotionless. This was probably my doing.

"Gotta get gas real quick, you want anything?"

"A plan." I smiled, trying to assure him I meant well by my persistence, and he sort of grinned back.

"Anything else? Coffee?"

"Coffee would be nice…thank you." This was pure appreciation, I'd forgotten whatever had happened a hundred miles back, and I had to forget because it was stupid. Mort leaned over in the seat to reach my face, tucking his nose inside of my hoodie and kissing me warmly. I could tell this was his apology as well, but just to make my own interests clear, when he moved away again to jump out of the car I called out as sweetly as I could muster, "Get a map, Sparky!" _That did it, _noticing the sly chuckle and roll of his eyes as he walked into the store.

As soon as he was out of sight though, my mind went out to my sister for some reason, almost as if I needed someone who wasn't in the car to know what was going on. I figured they had probably been up her ass all morning long already with the details of what had happened, and the hunt to find the two of us, so I needed to get to her before the hounds convinced her I was a criminal. I shuffled through one of the bags Mort had packed in the back, scratching Riley on the head in the process and finally locating my Blackberry, I hated it but it worked for the size and nature of my contact list. I jumped out of the Jeep and opened the back door for Rye to get out and stretch his legs with me, both of us strolling off to an open field across the street from the gas station, in the middle of a cornfield, in the middle of nowhere, again. As I dialed the speed number 3, I pressed the phone to my ear and watched as Riley scattered about in the tall grass trying to catch corn flies, an almost picturesque sunset fading out in the distance. Under opposing circumstances, it would have been beautiful, but today, it was just another reminder that I was a fugitive on the run against the horizon. Three separate rings dialed until I heard a click and a voice, "Roxanne?!" She was waiting for me, anxious like any good big sister would be.

"Hey Syd."

"Where the hell are you…!" She was whispering in a raised tone the way our mother did when we were kids, the way our mother still did in public, it was irritating but I listened to her ramble on, "The cops have been over here for five hours asking questions, and telling us how bad this is going to be if you don't come back, Roxy you have to come back…now!"

"I can't."

"Yes, you can and you will. You need to stop trying to protect this guy, I know you like him or whatever but--"

"I love him."

"You think you love him, you can't love a murderer Roxanne."

"He's not."

"He is, damnit! Come home now!"

"I'm sorry Sydney…but I can't. You have to understand…I just can't do it. Not yet."

There was silence as I heard her pouring a glass of wine with exasperation, a clock ticking in her mind somewhere. "Then when?"

"I don't know when. Eight months, maybe."

"Why eight months?"

"Because…you're going to be an aunt in eight months." Again silence, but this time an exhilarated silence, a profound honorary one.

"Y-you're…what, no? You can't be…oh my god."

"I am, and it's Mort's baby." With a quick reply, I caught my mind wandering off to where the dog was, and looking back to where I saw Mort coming out of the gas station again. "Look Syd, I gotta go ok…I'll call you in a few days."

"Wait, you need to know…the cops they found--" I didn't have any need to listen to her, or what she was trying to tell me, brushing it off quickly, "Ok, cool tell me in a few days. I love you guys!" And a click and ended beep later I was crossing back over to the pump where the Jeep was, calling Riley to catch up. Since we'd stopped before and I'd apparently passed out, Mort had put on a clean pair of jeans and that old Van Halen tee of his, the one I thought was mine now. Not that I cared, it looked even better on him, and I smiled at the sight as I moved towards the hood of the car where he stood looking at something. Leaning down next to him, my elbows on the warm hood, I realized he was entranced by a newspaper of all things, "New York Times?"

"No. Just the headline." He replied hastily, pointing down to the page for me to see, and when I read what he'd warned of, I almost wished I had kept Sydney on the phone longer. In bold letters, reminiscent of the headline for Lucas' death weeks ago, it read:

**Tashmore Sheriff Murdered Off Duty**

To say I was stunned would be an understatement. Concerned, sure. Sick to the stomach, duh. Frightened for my life, without a doubt. I had to read it three more times before its purpose sunk in, _**Sheriff Dead. Tashmore…Off Duty? **_ There was no photo, only an article on the right hand side of the front page, bold print, catchy headline, and the one thing I could have never anticipated. By the time I looked up again Mort was gone to the back of the truck, pumping gas furiously, his hands shaking. I knew what he was thinking, because it was the only thing I could imagine at the moment, when and how are they going to blame this one on him too? What forced evidence will they come up with? What paid off eye witnesses will they bring forth? Dave Newsome dead. The Sheriff in charge of Mort's extermination. And now a successful jail break and run. Hell, there were enough motives there to write a bestseller. _One even Mort could add to his collection. _Conversation was still settled in thin air without words, everything needing to be said too difficult a task to fathom. And so I moved to sit on the hood of the car, throwing the newspaper into the oily skid on the cement below, and ripping the map into my hands to occupy my mind while I waited. It was a map of Philly, Ohio and Indiana…I hadn't even realized we'd made it that far yet and rather than send Mort for a jolt at that moment and ask where we were, I decided to just scan around aimlessly, noting all of the smallest dots on the map, all of the hidden places in the Mid-Northeast.

_Findlay…Mount Vernon…Beavercreek…where the hell are we?_

Just as I was about to give up and get back in the car, I heard a clicking of the gas nozzle, a few twists of the tank cap, and the sound of Mort's boots coming nearer to me again. It was solemn movement, the kind of pace that you hear on a man entering a jail cell, slow, melodic, a fine blues tune perhaps. At my side, he grabbed a beer and twisted off the cap, pressing it tightly to his lips, the anger flowing out of his every pore, but still I waited. He was sexiest when he was angry, and I admitted this to myself while I watched him, the veins in his arms and hands revealing themselves with a deeper confidence, his brow furrowed even further than normal, eyes cold and gripping with anxiety, with indecisiveness. The wind was getting colder as I sat there, the sky dropping slowly into a grey haze, and I pulled my hood back over my face, holding my head forward and out of his sight, listening to his breathing, my breathing, the sound of the breeze against the newspaper on the ground. Yes we could keep running from here, scouting out our destiny, living on the edge forever. Or we could turn back and accept the consequences of what we had done, and be falsely accused of what we hadn't. I had already made up my decision before he began to speak.

"You said you wanted a plan…"

I didn't say anything but only nodded underneath the cover of my sweatshirt as he came closer, his hands caressing my legs for no apparent reason other than the sensation he knew we both needed, another human's purity and warmth at the most impure of moments thus far. "Let's make one Roxanne, a plan….a good one this time."

Looking up from between the black wool, my attention caused him to continue, "We're having a baby…we need a place to be for that right? Somewhere safe…somewhere no one will know Ben Miller…Mort or Roxanne, whoever the hell we are. Somewhere like..."

"Mexico?"

"Hmm…too cliché."

"Yeah, true. Paris?"

"Do you speak French?"

"No…" I laughed, pulling at his shirt as he fell between my legs. "How about…hmm…Cinnamon Bay?" It came to my mind almost as an afterthought for the desire I had burning in me, _cinnamon…quaintness…peace…Mort. _

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a place in the Caribbean…a _secret_ place." My face moved to his neck, whispering past strands of tawny and messy hair. "White sand…the bluest water you've ever seen…and no one around for a hundred miles…" He hummed silently with a groan at my hot breath while I spoke, a smile tracing my own lips again.

"How do you know about it?"

"Oh…" I began, pulling back with a giggle and hopping down from the hood to stand in front of him. "Kenny Chesney invited me there once." And with a wink and loosening tug at his pinky finger, I strolled around to the driver's side, needing to take my turn. Mort only stood watching me curiously with a grin at the corner of his mouth, probably trying to determine the nature of my reference, but he didn't pursue it despite my interest in a challenge to defend Roxy Love, for the first time…in too long.

"I'll drive; it's your turn to sleep."


	16. My Lady's House

**Chapter 16: My Lady's House**

**

* * *

**_Two one way tickets from Charleston, West Virginia to Atlanta:_ **$620**

_Subsequent flight tickets from Atlanta to Miami: _**$350**

_One way rental Mustang from Miami to Key West:_ **$400 + gas**

_Flying in Jimmy Buffet's private jet, to the Virgin Islands, with the criminal you love:_ **priceless**

We'd made it free and clear out of the States, and were high above the crystal blue water of the Caribbean by the time it hit me what we were actually doing. We were running, and as fast and far as we possibly could. I'd cashed in my debt with enough celebrities for the next year to get us this far, and Mort had maxed out his Visa for the week. But we were still safe, and we were still together. I could hear the growl of his stomach as I lay against his chest, my eyes peeled to the sparkling water below us out of the window, the distant green crescent shapes of islands yet to be inhabited, secluded, the perfect place to go incognito for a while. The dust had to settle, the hunt for Mort, the continuous string of murders that couldn't possibly have been him, as well as the ones he and I were responsible for, all had to disappear from our burning trail.

My head rose and fell as his breathing deepened, the crack of his jaw above me revealed that he was almost awake from the flight, and just in time too. We'd be landing on Saint Thomas in less than twenty minutes, followed by a half hour ferry ride to Saint John, and judging by the tightening on my waist beneath his hold, Mort was ready for whatever the journey entailed. I tilted my head up to see him yawning with a short stretch, and I kissed his stubbly chin quickly as he blinked his eyes open fully.

"Mmm, morning." He smiled.

"Afternoon actually."

"Oh…" he replied, nuzzling his face against my cheek until he could reach my lips and solidly plant a wet trail along them. "Whatever you say."

We stayed just like that until the plane finally descended across the mountain scale of the islands, through trees and over white beaches. The airport was smaller than any in the States, but still bustling, tons of people, visitors like us, locals, and everyone in between. In all of our travelling in the past two days, Riley had managed to stick with us, tired, hungry and anxious, he was still there. We grabbed our bags, (most of which had been re-placed before we left Miami, due to our motel jolt), thanked the pilots, and made our way down into the open landing strip where a few other private jets were parked. The sun was bright, different from New York, and we both immediately tugged our sunglasses and hats on, hand in hand, Riley running out far in front of us as we headed to grab a taxi to the ferry.

"Are you sure we can get a room at that little inn you found?" I asked, resting my head on his shoulder as we stepped down onto the docks about twenty minutes later.

"Don't worry; I've got a backup plan if we can't."

I wasn't sure what was in his head, but the way he was smiling made my stomach churn with carelessness, adventure. After everything that had gone wrong the last month, he'd still managed to keep his cool about him; that _coolness_ Mort Rainey embodied at times. He didn't need to say anything else as we waited; I knew he'd figure it out. There were a few other families, couples, fishermen waiting on the rails of the docks as well, feet dangling in the aqua water, beach chairs, cameras, fishing poles, rolling eyes from locals included. Coming to the islands was at least one smart thing I had done, even if concocting a jail break wasn't one of them.

The ferry pulled in and when Riley took off, so did we. A half an hour boat ride across the clearest of water, through the tallest of trees, mountains, widest beaches, and the two of us stood at the bow, wrapped up as tight as possible, laughing over anything more absurd than what we were actually doing. Mort whispered sweet nothingness in my ear, talking about a future, the baby that he kept safe with his hand over my stomach as we neared the next port, all the things we'd have to plan for sooner than expected. It was more than a whirlwind really, the pace that the world had been flying at the last few days was incredible, from the imminent _'I love you's'_, to the pregnancy test, murder, more murder, and now a high speed run from any contact with the U.S. And in all of it I hadn't done much of anything for work, neglected to call anyone but my sister, and still could only care to think about one thing, and he wasn't going anywhere it seemed. I needed Mort more than I had ever needed anyone else before, even Sydney, even myself. It was going to take everything left in me to help hideaway with him, and to bring a baby into all of it, but with the warm breeze on my cheeks, an arm snug at my waist, a dog resting on my feet, I realized I was more than ready to at least try. Even if the worst should happen before I got there.

When the ferry docked soundly at Cruz Bay on the west coast of St. John, we again grabbed our bags and followed the few other passengers down to the outer docks and a parking lot. We were going to need a ride across the island to Cinnamon Bay, and our only choice was one of the few rusted taxis waiting for tourists, a blue one with green, peeling stripes was what Mort chose first. We loaded the bags up, Riley in the back with us and headed off towards the opposite coast.

* * *

I didn't know where to begin to think clearly. Twenty hours before, we were scanning a map at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, with a newspaper haunting us on the trunk of the Jeep. And now, we were sailing across a dirt path, circling the greenest, the whitest, the bluest beaches from high above, rattling along in a taxi far too old to be considered safe, with nothing but each other, a baby, a dog, and U.S dollars between us. Yet it seemed so right as wrong as it may have appeared; the breakout, the get up and go, all of the travelling and credit swipes it had taken to get us here, it felt safe enough. I hadn't killed that poor kid, I knew that. And because Roxanne and I had been a hundred miles out of reach when the news came to us, she and I both knew we had nothing to do with Dave. But then who the hell did? It made no sense, another killer on the loose, someone attached to us perhaps? Chicago come back to trouble me?

I had gone over the facts in my mind for almost three days, even more so when I had discovered what had apparently become of Newsome. Part of me had wondered if it had been a hoax, something drawn up to wear down on me so whoever was following our tracks could catch us finally. But we didn't slow our pace, if anything we sped up, hightailed it out of U.S waters and into British territory, beautiful, crystal green British territory nonetheless. Thanking god, that we both had valid passports. Roxanne had insisted on calling an old friend for this trip, not just any old friend of course, but instead, one who had done more than either of us could ever pay back, and taken care to remind us on the importance of relaxation and alcohol-free margaritas for the mother to be. I had covered all of the costs against her will to demand otherwise, gotten us here and away from trouble for now, and even managed to find a place for us to stay while waiting at the airport with my laptop. I hadn't told her what it was, or where it was for that matter, instead only convinced her we would find a hotel or inn when we got here. But what I had found was even better, even safer.

A few minutes of driving passed and I felt her hand slide up the front of my t-shirt to where it settled at the waist of my jeans, softly caressing the skin, the darkened hair there. She wasn't trying to be anything more than completely content, and pulling her closer to me I stroked the gentle brown curls falling out of her braid, and watched the eyes of the driver as he looked back a few times curiously. Although annoyed by first impression of his terrible driving and humming, I ignored it and looked out the window for another ten yards or so before we made it to the second coast.

"Alright, Cinnamon Bay." The voice of the driver grunted from up front, never turning his face, only stretching his hand back towards us, "$6.55"

I handed him a twenty, and as it crumbled in his hand annoyingly, we jumped out with our bags, Riley closely behind. Before she caught a glimpse of the true location, or the address I had handed to the driver, I covered her eyes with my hands and stepped close behind her as the taxi took off down the dirt road again. I could feel the rise and fall of her back against my chest, as I pulled her into me further and whispered for her to walk slowly. She laughed, that same one I had missed so much since all of the insanity had overtaken our lives, and we walked forward along the dirt and tall, island grasses.

"Mort…where are we going?"

"I told you I'd find us a place to hide, didn't I?"

"Yeah…"

"So, you gotta trust me. Oh, careful there's a rock…" helping her step around it, we finished off the decline of a small hill towards the beach. There was no one else around from where we stood and walked, and as the dirt became sand, and the grass became seashells, I slowly lifted my palms away from her eyes.

Nestled in the alcove of the beach, between a few distant boulders, scattered palm trees, and a private dock, was what I had managed to find in the airport the night before. It was a cottage, perfect for two (or three in our case), Riley as well, and as hidden as anything else was likely to be in the Caribbean. I felt her hand fall away from mine as she stumbled out further onto the sand in front of me, her bag sliding down from her arm, hands covering her mouth as her hair blew in the breeze. I didn't even have to see her face because I already had imagined what it would look like. I pictured her laughing, which she did through a choking giggle. In my mind, I saw her screaming, of which happened instantly as she walked closer towards the small island bungalow. And as I stood there waiting for her to turn around, I thought of her crying, not steadily, just a few teardrops to let me know what she was thinking without saying it. That's when she spun back around to see me, her cheeks glowing in the midday sun.

"W-what is this?" She eventually spoke through trembling lips and dewy eyelashes. I dropped the other bags and came closer to her, looking out over her shoulder to where the hideaway was.

"It's a house."

"I know it's a house Mort," she laughed, resting her hands on my chest with a careful shove. "But…why are we here? We're supposed to get a room."

"Yeah, I know. But this…" I began, taking her hand in mine and tugging her along towards the blue cottage, "…This is better. It's better for you, and the baby, it's safer." When I tilted my head back to her again, the tears had doubled in number and speed, her nose sniffling into the jacket she'd borrowed from me, and she could hardly think to speak, so I went on. "I found it online in the airport last night, it's great…two bedrooms and a bathroom, see…look over there," I pointed off towards the private dock and continuing beach, "We can have a boat, and there's fresh water and electricity. Come on let's go look inside," I tried to pull her further up the sandy bank to where the winding staircase and porch was, but before we could manage even a step, she tugged back on my hand harder to stop me.

"What's wrong?"

"Mort…how did you…?"

Gesturing towards the house with one hand, I held her other one closer to me, squeezing for warmth, "My publisher advanced me for a new book last week. I was going to tell you, but then--"

"They advanced you with money to buy a house?" The innocence in her half grin made me laugh, "No. I wanted to buy the house for you, for us. Just ignore how crazy it is for a minute…" I smiled and kissed her hand, "…And tell me you like it."

She shook her head with a wild grin, wiped a few more tears away, and then looked up into my eyes as she clung to me tight, "I-I love it. Thank you."

_

* * *

A house. This man just bought a house for us…the cutest house I've ever seen before. Don't let go…I can't let go of him…squeeze…harder…._When eventually I did let him breathe again, I kept my hands attached to his arm as tight as possible as he walked me inside, the door unlocked as only it would be in a Caribbean bungalow, sand dusting the wood porch, the doorway of the house, and every inch of the floor from there to the small kitchen across the opening. It was ancient, but reliable looking, with aged wood cabinets, floors, walls, and all of it painted colorfully. I smiled and kissed his hand as we continued on towards the comfortable looking living room, scare of much furniture, but a couch which was enough for us. From the wide sunlit main room, I could see what must have been considered a bedroom, veered off to the right, cornered with a canopy of white, web like drapes across cotton sheets, tons of them. It was just like one would picture a beachside hut in a magazine looking, its rustic and cracked wood floors, chipped furniture, handcrafted everything, hand-painted flowers and leaves on a few walls. This had been someone's sanctuary before us, and according to Mort, it was ours now too.

As I motioned to step off in search of the bathroom and second room, I felt his fingertips tense inside of my palm as he drew me back towards where he still stood at the edge of the bed. He somehow managed to lift my entire body from the floor without my ever guessing what he would do, stepped towards the appeal of the mattress and carefully laid me down upon the sheets, falling on top much the same. I laughed out of surprise, out of comfort and relaxation, out of just plain happiness. For the safety I felt inside of these walls so suddenly, the security that I knew I could always find in his arms, his cinnamon arms, nestled in a bed of cotton on Cinnamon Bay. I couldn't have dreamed up a better escape attempt, or hideaway for that matter.

"Bed work for you?"

I smiled up at him as he brushed away the stray hair in my eyes, "It's cozy."

"Love-making cozy….or just _cozy_?" Rolling my eyes I pushed him out of the way and sat up to reach my bare feet to the floor in search of my fallen sandals. "You've already knocked me up once this year, Mr. Rainey."

"Yeah…and damn proud of it too." He smirked as I stood up from the bed and helped him back to his feet. We wandered through the rest of the small house, impressed, smiling, loving it all for its simplicity. If there was one thing Mort and I had in common, it was simple, easy, warm places and things and the cottage was perfect for us. I kissed him long and hard in appreciation, pressed somewhere between the ocean and our porch, wanting nothing more than to go right back into the bed and stay there until the baby was due.

"You did good Benny." I whispered in his ear as he carried me away again, Riley barking somewhere down the beach, _our beach_, and cotton sheets of cinnamon trace waiting inside.


	17. Teeth in the Grass

**Chapter 17: Teeth in the Grass**

_There was silence in the house, still walls, still floors, only a few lingering drips from a leaky faucet. Mort had never slept so peacefully before this night, or so he imagined. As the wind picked up outside, he could feel himself falling out of the deepness, rising with rusting sounds of the fence, a sway in the water on the lake, even creaks of doors from inside. Things that never made noise at night, were calling him to wake up for some reason. _

_It wasn't until he tossed over in the sheets that his head was cradled with spooks. His eyes flickered open as if being pried from their muscled roots, and when he glanced up in the moonlit darkness of the bed to see Amy, he noticed a horror in her eyes, something he couldn't think to place. He sat up further, the sheets falling off of his naked arms, and reached up to take her face in the palm of his hand, turning it downward to him. _

"_Am…?" _

_She breathed sickly with a sob. He felt his heart jump from between his lips. _

"_Amy?" _

"_Wh…" she tried, sliding her hand down from where it rested at her neck, across her chest, her growing stomach, and down to the coffee colored sheets that were melded between her legs. And as Mort watched her fingers dance shakily downward, he too noticed blackened spots, stains, increasing in thickness as her hand moved even further. When they stopped, and she looked back over to him with fear plastering her eyes between beads of sweat, he let his mind tick three times, contemplated the world in those three seconds, until he could bring himself to look back down again to the puddle that had formed between her thighs and his own hip. _

"_Sh…Shit!" He shouted, jumping from the warm stain covering the entirety of the mattress, grabbing onto her arms, and stroking her hair as she finally fell into crying. In the light of only the moon's tempting glow, he saw and smelled the faintness of blood pooling all around her as she screamed. "Mort…the baby!"

* * *

_As if it had all been re-lived, I felt the muscles in my arms and legs tense as I shot straight up from darkness, catching my bones midway through the sheets and mattress' hold. The breathing was too thunderous to stop, gasps for whatever the warm air had to offer, and I pulled the sheets away from my legs, my boxers alone not doing much to keep me from being warm. I was covered in sweat, from forehead to the curl of my toes as I threw a glance to the opposite side of the bed, the empty and still wrinkled sheets. "Roxy…" I whispered between gritted teeth, hobbling off the mattress with glasses in hand and through the small spaces of the room, not bothering to turn lights on.

I was being led by the violet glow of an early morning pouring in through the shutters of the cottage, stumbling over loose books or chairs, making my way into the kitchen, the sitting room, but she wasn't there either. Trying not to panic at all, I noticed the teapot sitting on the stove still, warm to the touch, and after tugging on my glasses I peered out of the open kitchen window, a few squints to see her figure down by the water. I bolted without thinking about shoes to ward off the sharp seashells along the porch, nor a jacket for the cold morning breeze we'd come to acknowledge on this side of the island, and only ran out to where she was standing with a mug and wool blanket wrapped around her.

By the time I made it to her, sand kicking up around my ankles like tiny bullets, she was laughing as if I were insane. And I probably was at this point. "Mort?" She asked, as I immediately led my hands to circle around her cool cheeks, checking for strain, her visible neck and shoulders, and then tore away the blanket to run the length of her arms and fingers down over the easy bump of her stomach. I could feel her watching me oddly, her hand brushing the hair out of my face as I knelt in the sand before her, my own hands still nestled around her stomach. "Mort…what's wrong?"

I kissed her stomach through the worn cotton of her t-shirt and whispered, "Stay in there, baby…just stay this time."

With another stroke of my hair, I rose to meet her again, looking down into her eyes as I pressed my forehead to hers. I wound my arms around her, breathed deeply; trying to get rid of the images I'd woken with, trying to pretend they never happened to at all. I didn't want her to worry about what I had seen or felt or dreamed, so I tried to play it off a little bit, with smiles, kisses, and a hold on her hand as I pulled her back inside. It wasn't the smoothest I'd ever operated before, but it at least did me good to see her again. Stepping inside the dark house, she was still laughing at me as she brushed the sand off of her feet and offered me some tea. I nodded and walked off towards the table, fingers pressed at my temple, trying to let it all go away. Amy had been one thing, a completely other case, a completely other woman, and it had nothing to do with Roxanne. _It should have nothing to do with her…it shouldn't mean a damn thing. _

"Sweetie, are you okay?"

When I looked up from my hands, she was standing beside me at the table, one hand on her stomach, and the other holding a steaming cup. I took the tea from her with thanks, and then slid the chair back to settle her on my lap, holding as tight as I dared to in that moment. Two months of renewed seclusion and I was fearful of losing my head again, the beach had appealed to me the same way the lake had, two full months of pregnancy had begun to get to me the same way it had eight years ago. It had taken too much to get us here and safe from our pasts, from whatever the fuck was probably chasing after me still, from the demons of New York, and I had no intentions of giving any of it up now, not after all the work I had put into keeping her at my side, not after risking her ass to save mine.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong…?" She asked again, twisting the loose ends of my unruly hair.

"Nothing's wrong."

"I don't believe you." It was harder to hide than I thought, but as I shifted with her weight on my legs, and took a sip of the tea she'd made, I eased her mind with a smile.

"What's it gonna take to _make you_ believe me, that I'm okay?" With a nod of her head, she pushed up from my lap and walked away into the pink haze the cottage had stirred in wake, swaying with the light, "I don't know. But I guess you'll eventually figure it out…"

_Women. They always just expect us to know what to do. They can never tell us…'Oh, I want a baby…' or 'I want a house.' We gotta figure out how to save our balls on our own…shit. Well at least Roxanne is far easier to please than the last…just Aerosmith and coffee. _I smiled as she walked away, took one last heavy swig of the tea, and pulled my laptop across the table to where I was sitting, thinking that maybe work would help me figure something out. I had a book to write now, the book that was paying for our island stakeout, and something had to find its way to the paper sooner than later. I began to type, without much consciousness of what was spilling out.

* * *

I knew there was something in his head, something disturbing him, but I let it go for now because I was too tired to even fight it. Mort was a sensible man, proven by this house alone, what he'd done for me, the woman he'd hardly known one season. Sipping at my tea a few more moments, I moved into where the bed was and stood looking down at the rumple of sheets. Cotton had a funny way of wrinkling itself, twisting, leaving imprints of activity and pleasure, but still having the appearance of being completely snug. I wanted to dive right in and drift off to sleep, and nearly did, before sitting down my tea on the nightstand and stepping around to the side of bed that Mort had occupied for the last two months. For some reason it just looked warmer to me, safer, and dropping the blanket I had to the floor, I carefully slid in with nothing but one of his old shirts on. I had been right just by the view, it was immensely warmer than my side had been that morning, the scent of island spices lingered on the mattress and sheets as I curled into them further, and the pillow smelled of his hair, that fresh apple aroma. My eyes closed, and away I went.

**

And when my eyes adjusted to the bright light again, I could have never guessed I'd slept until noon. The room was hot now without the ceiling fans turned on, the sheets annoying as they clung to my legs, and the beating sun jerking me over to face the opposite direction in the bed. When I turned, I saw Mort standing at the dresser, buttoning a pair of jeans with a t-shirt tossed over his bare shoulder. He looked over at me, no smile, just a close eye as he continued getting dressed. I watched as he rustled his hair a bit, not ever caring to comb it, rolled on deodorant, and then tugged his shirt down over his head and fell into the bed beside me.

"Tired?"

"A little." I answered, clinging onto the loose cotton of his shirt. "Are you going out?"

"We need milk." Nuzzling my nose in his palm as he brushed his hand across my face, I smiled and nodded. "I'll be back soon. Make sure you lock the door behind me, okay?"

"I will." And with that, he kissed my cheek lightly and rose from the bed, grabbing his wallet and the keys to the Jeep he'd bought off a local when he first arrived. He smiled as he wandered out of the room and towards the front door, reminding me to lock the door again, "I mean it…" and I watched as he moved past the few short windows of the porch and jumped into the sandy drive where the truck was. My head fell to the sheets again, ignoring his request for now, and my eyes shuttered back.

* * *

We had a full carton of milk. I poured it down the sink on purpose, because I needed an excuse. An excuse to leave without her tagging along, an excuse to drive down to the ferry docks and sail across to St. Thomas for the day. I needed an excuse to fill the need of what she had expected me to, _'figure out.' _And Havensight Mall was the only place it was going to happen.

"She better lock that damn door…" I mumbled as I turned the Jeep on and pulled out away from the house, and down to the path that had formed itself in the sand banks over the last month or so. The tires growled against the beach, the age and use the car had been through being far more than mine was back at home, but it was enough to get us places, and that's all that really mattered to me anyway. Once out to the main trail, I followed the road up the hill and took off towards the island's one main highway, which was a two lane road into the mile long town. It was a twenty minute drive to the docks, and from there I took the truck across to Charlotte Amalie Harbor. This was another half an hour or so, but always a nice ride, one couldn't possibly complain about the view, or the weather, or anything else in this environment. Roxanne's plan had been nothing short of a miracle for my head. Even the dream from earlier that morning was washed away as I drove the Jeep off of the ferry and into the cobblestone streets of Amalie.

I was writing when the idea had come to me, like a shot of light in pure darkness it just hit me. I made a couple of calls, was directed to the right places, the _best_ places, and was now driving towards the one I'd chosen. The streets were already full of tourists as they usually were here, the mall and markets packed with shoppers, diners, all sorts of misfits. And yet even though I was fresh to the islands, I felt like a local, I felt as if this is where I belonged.

Pulling up outside of the building, titled by the same name of a man I'd spoken with earlier, _Cardow, _I jumped out and went inside where it was just as warm as outside. The entire room sparkled in the light from the windows, and from around a gold-plated counter, stepped the man I assumed was waiting for me, a stout older man dressed in a casual suit. He smiled widely and came to me, "Mister Rainey, I presume?" His British accent was even stronger in person, and I grinned with a swift nod, while the car keys jingled in my hand.

"Well sir…you look nervous."

"Terrified," I chuckled, while he walked me back towards the counter with him.

His laughter was grand as I noticed his stomach moved up and down with his words, "Not to worry, picking the cut is the toughest part."

* * *

"_Morton Rainey…e's gonna get his." _

"_E-excuse me?" _

"_I said…Mr. Rainey is in for it. He's done been caught up on, ya know."_

"_He's innocent." _

"_Ha, E' hasn't been innocent since Chicago. The past is' catching up with that boy real good. You can tell him I said so, when you see him again. __**If **__you see him again…"_

Shooting up straight in bed, my hair was covering my face, my legs weak, arms strained from grasping the sheets too hard. Judging by the shade of light across the wood floors, it was further than midday now. I didn't see Mort, but heard a sudden scratch of sand and graveled shells outside of the windows, tires scraping up towards the house as an engine capped itself off. I reached across the bed for a pair of his boxers and pulled them on as I stepped back towards the kitchen and front door, ready to see him or help with whatever he'd gotten. But even before my toes found the rug in the living room, I heard voices, not one, not Mort's, but a crowd of them up and down the sides of the house, through the cracked blinds of the shutters. I heard a second truck pull up on the opposing wall of the kitchen, a red blur, and more voices. And the one thing I didn't hear in any of this...was Riley barking. He hated strangers, and had barked at anyone new to him, as long as I had known him. There was no barking.

Instead, there were a few strong knocks on the door and windows, shouting, and a burst of light as the front door swung open and crashed into the shelf behind it, dishes falling to floor. "Afternoon Miss Hayden…" I heard myself scream at the deep voice, the gross familiarity of it, heard stomping boots across the floor as the blurry faces of two or three men came towards me, and then I saw and heard nothing but the pound inside of my own head. Everything went painfully black as I remembered one thing. _He told me to lock the door.

* * *

_The miles were shortening with passing minutes in the car, while a sweet tune played over the scratchy radio, something long since forgotten, something American. _Washboard Lisa…wash away your sins…let em' go down the drain, every time you move your dirty little hands…take away our fears and our pain. _Sounded like something my mom used to sing when I was a kid, something vaguely familiar to that normal childhood I'd been given, a time when there was no sadness, or guilt, or worry in the world. Things had surely changed since then, but it was also what I took to be the sound of hope, of finding the end of a very long tunnel and coming out whole, with the most beautiful girl in the world. And the more I twisted my fingers against the squared edges of the contents in my pocket, one hand gripping the wheel, I began to think about when that moment would come to me, that one opportune second that would just hit me as the right time. Part of me wanted it to happen right away, out of anxiousness and excitement. And then part of me wanted to make a plan, relax a bit on the subject, and let it settle in my head before jumping head first into a dangerous zone. I'd already done this once, which instead of giving me seniority in the matter, only made it more confusing.

Turning off onto the dirt path from the highway, I passed a few fishermen who waved and smiled, and returned the gesture through the open windows of the car. The breeze was picking up again as the horizon neared its breaking point for the day, and brought the sunset upon the little island. The sky was every shade of pink and red combined by the time I made it down to the coast again, only a half mile or so from the house, the only one within yards, acres even. There were never any cars down this way, and yet I felt sure I could hear the strain of tires against the sand not too far from where I was on the path. I neared the house as it sat at a distance, no cars in sight, but still the sound through the wind. There were tire marks in the sand that were larger than those the Jeep could leave, and it was at that moment, that I sped the car up another tap of the pedal until I could see the front door of the porch, hanging wide open. I slammed the breaks a good ten feet from the house, and jumped out with the car still running, "Fuck…no, no…Roxanne!"

Of course there was no response, because I'd really fucked up this time. I ran inside where my boots met shattered glass and porcelain, chairs overturned, rugs out of place, books everywhere. I didn't stop moving or yelling, "Roxanne! Roxy!" and just continued through the remainder of the small spaces, the kitchen and bathroom, eventually coming into the bedroom where I saw a short trace of red on the rug and floor. My head stopped spinning and instead shook like crazy when I saw it, leaned against the bed with a growl in the pit of my stomach, and nearly ripped my hair out of its follicles when I rose again and ran back towards the front door. Not knowing what else to do, I jumped in the car again, deciding to attempt following the tracks back along the opposite side of the house where they led further down the beach, thick and fresh from what I could tell. The tide hadn't washed away the evidence I needed yet. I pulled around the back of the house and stormed off through the close waves as they eventually led towards another back- road into town, one I hardly ever took for the overgrowth of trees. As I drove, the tracks got thinner, looser, and my heart raced thinking about all of possible outcomes of what I'd done, or _not_ done in an obvious instance. It was just as I felt and winced at the prick of the jewelers' box against the thigh of my jeans, that I missed the warning sign of a car turning out of the tree lined road, a red truck blurred across my line of vision, covering my trail as I tried desperately to swing right and fall into the brush. But in doing so, the front end of the Jeep tore into the back of the truck, my hands being forced loose from the wheel with the pressure of the car levitating…all against my will. I knew the car was in the air, spinning, flipping, diving, and doing whatever cars do when they get turned over my intruders on the road. What I didn't know, was whether or not I had survived it when the car finally found earth's platform again. The taste of grass, dirt and metal in my mouth.

_I should have never left that door unlocked. _


	18. Sea Legs

**Chapter 18: Sea Legs**

I wanted to admit that should I open my eyes, everything would be as it was. That I'd be tangled up in nonsense and sheets with the woman I loved, that the sun would still be down on the beach, and that only a few candles burning would be keeping us warm from the tapping shutters. I wanted to think that the pressure I felt on my legs wasn't the grip of death, or dirt, or something else preventing me from being near her, but that it was in fact the feeling of temptation, or at the very least, the feeling of complete relaxation. But not death, I couldn't let it be death yet. Had I been offered the chance to lose everything a year ago, move on slowly into the chokehold of Satan's own lair, then yes, I would have taken it. I was nothing a year ago, just a wandering ghost amid all of the destruction I had caused. I wasn't Mort Rainey and I wasn't Benjamin Miller, I was just a criminal on the loose. I couldn't die now, not when everything had finally turned itself back around, and the full circle of my life had been sewn together.

_It's so warm…whatever it is. Heat rising and falling…a burning peace, perhaps?_

Shaking off the propeller in my mind, I slowly dug my nails further into the soft flooring beneath me, carpet of some kind, and forced my eyelids to blind themselves to the coming light. I imagined waking up to the day before, or the decade before, or even the lid of a wooden casket, but when I opened my eyes all the way, constricted them harshly to the glowing of table lamps above my head, and tilted my chin down to face upwards in front of me, I suddenly took back my previous hopes. I wished I was dead.

The heat and pressure on my legs was immediately discerned. The anxiousness I felt was brought to new heights. And my heart, felt as if it were being gnawed on by a pit bull, a wild bear, even a fucking shark. The first thing I saw were her brown eyes, frigid, desperate, lost high above. She was looking upon me as if I were settled in cold death beneath her, as if the straddle of her legs around my waist were scissors ripping me from the outside in. They certainly didn't feel like it, but that sensation was short lived when I focused harder on her. The pin barrel of a pistol was watching over me, waiting to be relieved of its contents, waiting for her to pull its trigger in my direction. But its handle was being pawed by four hands, not just her two. The fat, sticky fingers of a man were entangled with her red nails, pushing harder against the barrel, whispering something into her ear as her legs shivered against my entire body, jolting me, worrying me, freaking me out more than death. It wasn't a dream, and it was too definite to be a nightmare. This was fate, the one I'd run from for far too long.

My face twitched without capable words, as the blurred man forced her body closer to mine, the gun as well, coming down to my jaw with strain, digging in. I tried to scream, I tried to fight my case but the aftertaste of a drool covered cloth between my teeth and lips prevented any of these brilliant ideas from happening.

"This is it Roxanne…this is fate, baby…just…pull the trigger."

There was nothing left of her anymore as I lay watching the scene above me, there was no warmth or emotion, no desire to try and fight it off, no strength to go against the man or against her fingers' tap on the trigger. I tried to squirm away, but felt two boots grind into each of my kneecaps instead, wincing with pain that kept me pinned. Roxanne's face was drenched in sweat and tears, and the more I focused, the clearer the blood smeared across both her forehead and neck became. I wondered if it was mine from previous torture in the day, or hers from whatever they'd managed to do to her while I was gone. There was no time to wonder any further than that though, as I heard the re-clicking of the gun pressed into the bone of my chin, tucked up higher and thicker as the deep-throated man wrapped his arms around her softly and continued to whisper.

"He's had it coming babe…just do us all a favor…show Mr. Miller how well your aim is from this distance…" his laughter cackled away into the open room as I heard Roxanne's choking sobs, sniffles of her nose, and finally a voiceless movement of her lips, _"Mort…"_

There was nothing either of us could do. Both of my knees felt like they had been broken from the bone inward, and she was being forced against her will to fire that damn thing. Forced by some fucker I could hardly even make out through the sting in my eyes. I imagined it was probably sweat from the heat I felt, blood maybe too, sand and whatever else they'd drug me through to get to this room. I remembered the car flipping over, I remembered the ring in my pocket, I remembered blood on the floor, but everything else was and would remain a mystery as soon as Roxanne's finger pushed hard enough.

"Hurry the fuck up Rae…get this shit over with so we can eat…"

"E-…Ethan…n-no."

"Yes, dammit." He grunted, forcing the gun against my jaw again where she'd moved it away. "Kill him. Just like you killed me…"

**Click.** Not of a trigger, but of my brain as it began functioning again. Ethan. _Just like she killed him…Ethan, her Ethan. There was no fucking way he survived what she had told me._ _Jesus…Christ. _A few more seconds passed, and when nothing was being done to rid my life rather than salvage it, I watched his hand wind up into the air and come swooping down against Roxanne's cheek. Her body fell to the floor beside my motionless legs. "Forget it, you're still useless." I watched Ethan pry the gun from her stagnant fingers, and bring it back to my temple, the cool iron sheath lying flat between my eyes, awaiting doom in his smile. "Sorry for the prolonged agony, Ben. We'll have this over with in no ti--"

"What the fuck are you doing?" He was cut off by another voice, a broader one, and turned away from me with the gun drooping in his hand, as I still laid listening to the second man, a city tone to his voice. "We're not half done with them, Klein…get the fuck up…"

Everything was blurring again into a hazy white, smudged images of two men arguing about nothing important, except our lives and the continuing torture of them. Ethan was off of me by the time I blinked again, never having been able to reach far enough to touch Roxanne. I went out before I even knew whether she was alive or not, whether she'd been thrown around enough by then to hurt the baby. It would all be contemplated in my sleepless head.

* * *

No sound. There was no more sound, but a ringing, deep…deep in my ears. I could hear ringing, and see…movement, shaded bodies moving around between the wood-floor and ceiling. I tried to open my eyes further, but my head hurt too much, the ringing was forcing my eyes closed. His voice, only his voice, Mort's voice is what I heard over the blaring ring. A grunt, pain, suffocation, coughing as the others bodies carried him away from me, from the floor where I still was.

I wanted to yell at them, _"Don't…let him go."_

But I couldn't, so there I stayed until I felt two cold hands lifting my up by the arms. My knees gave way and I fell through the person's grip to the floor again, but again, they picked me up, threw me over their shoulders I think, and carried me away as well. My eyes were shut for the walk to nowhere, head pounding with the brightness of daylight, distant light. I still had no clue where I was, where I'd been taken to, I could only remember the house, the door busting open, and something on the back of my head, which still hurt terribly. There was mumbling, footsteps, laughter of men, the clicking of guns somewhere too. But I didn't see any of it, at least not for another minute or so, not until I felt my entire weight dropping away from the other person's arms, and down onto a cushion of some kind, a bed maybe, a couch?

"Wake the fuck up Rae…time to do business."

It was Ethan, I knew that already. The sun burnt too much to open my eyes, but I knew I had to try, and pushing up by my arms to sit against the back of the seating, I finally flicked them wide to the harsh brightness of the outside world again. The view, although initially blurred, was of nothing but water. Crystal aquamarine surf, waves and waves of it forever. It sparkled with the sun, as I then realized the tilt and swagger of where I was sitting, an anchored boat. Or as I guessed it in Ethan's case, a yacht.

"Drink this and take these…" Looking over to where his hand was wavering in front of me, I saw three small red pills in the cusp of his palm, and turned away with a sickening gesture. "Take them, I'm not asking!"

"W-what are they?"

"Cooperation pills. Swallow them…_now_." I knew his business, I'd known for far too long, and however he'd managed to survive his untimely death, he was right back where he was when I shot him. Pushing drugs on people who were otherwise not interested. Because I had no choice though, I swallowed them quick, immediately feeling the rush of them down into my gut. The water helped a bit with my dry throat as well as my eyesight, and placing the glass back down, I scanned across the deck where we were sitting to see four or five other men in expensive designer suits, Hawaiian shirts, all kinds of shades. I'd known these men once before, back when I was Ethan's prize, when I was also naïve. Yet Ethan himself, as I finally got a decent view of him, was nothing like I remembered him, but at the same time was again distinctly familiar…for some reason. He looked older, beaten and torn away at, deadly in an overbearing way, and catching a glimpse of his eye in the pure sunlight, hearing the sickness in his cough, I immediately knew who he had been…

"_The past is' catching up with that boy real good. You can tell him I said so, when you see him again. If you see him again."_

The guy at Pete's. The rum, the cough, the threat. My mind turned over quickly to what was important.

"Wh-where's Mort…?" A few of them laughed at my question, the quivering of my lip, but as they turned their heads toward the opposite side of the deck, they revealed to me an answer. Being slugged across the wooden floor, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth and arms twisted backwards, was the man my heart was breaking for. The two burly sidekicks dropped him to the table in front of me and Ethan, his body lifeless, his bones weaker than paper, his eyes crooning from one corner of the deck to the other as he caught mine. "Mort…" I whispered with a cough of tears to follow, reaching out to where his face was and nearly making it with comfort, before Ethan ripped my hand back and thrust me up to sit in a chair halfway across the deck.

"Stop it!" I yelled back at him, kicking his shin as he threw me down. "Don't touch me!"

"Baby…" he growled, leaning down in the chair to meet my face with his steaming breath, "I'll touch you anywhere I want…you're mine again…"

"Leave…h-her alone…"

The voice was distant and whimpering when Ethan pulled away from me, and everyone looked over to see Mort, struggling to sit on the table's edge. He winced at the pain covering him, his teeth clenched with blood as he stared from me to the large men surrounding the two of us. "Don't touch h-her…kill me if y-you want…but don't…touch her."

"Such a hero Mr. Miller…I'm shocked that you'd be interested in my little whore." I gasped as Ethan drew back and grabbed a fistful of my hair, lifting my body out of the chair to rest against him. Mort's eyes followed mine upwards, trying to get up from the table to do something, but still too weak. "And to think, you actually got her pregnant too…god, you must really…oh shit, what's that word…?" Wiggling in his arms, I continued to pull myself towards Mort, but it was no use as Ethan's words went on, "_Love…_say it isn't so Ben? You don't really _love_, little Roxanne…do you? Want to have babies with her, live in that shithole cabin on the beach…forever and ever? I wish I had thought of such romantic things before…maybe she wouldn't have shot me."

"She shot you caused y-you fucked around on her. Shit, can't blame her."

"That's only because you've committed the same crime. No sympathy for the devil my friend, only a painful death."

"Then do it already!" Leaping up with a hobble towards Ethan and me, Mort's veins rippled in his neck with anger, blood spit in a hacked cough. But before he could manage much else, the two large men had grabbed him again, and torn him back away down the corridor of the yacht. His screaming continued even louder and more vengeful, "Let her go, you fucking prick—fuck you…kill me…let her go!"

"Mort!"

"No more Mort…no more Benny…let's go!" Ethan seethed in my ear as he tugged me in the opposite direction towards the main cabin of the boat, screaming, kicking, crying and doing anything in my power to prevent it. "Mort!"

But it was useless, completely, forever and ever just like the waves.

* * *

"Where the hell are we taking him?"

"Bruce wants him upstairs…"

There were talking heads above me, dragging me harder and rougher, like a rag doll. My knees had to have been broken by that point, there was only numbness from my waist down, and the parts that I could feel, my arms, chest and neck, were all being ripped away at. I had since quit trying to get free of the men, I'd stopped yelling because it was pointless, and I succumbed to the pain if only to admit to myself that it would save Roxanne.

_Stairs_…my ankles thumped up stair after stair, reaching carpet, a ceiling fan high up, the taste of blood filling my mouth. I could make out some sort of bar, a couch or two, paintings on the walls around me, still being pulled at across the soft floor.

"I'm tired of watching this little shit."

"Then find some rope…we'll go eat. Bruce is coming…"

One of my arms was loosened from a grip, and fell drugged to my lap as I saw one man walk away to a cabinet, wavering in the sunlight of the room. I was still being forced across the floor by the second man, until he too dropped my arm and I crashed in the middle of the space, the back of my head meeting the leg of a table. The room filtered off into grays, pure whites, black shadows around the two men as they came closer to cover my body again. I was too numb to tell what they were doing to be. I was falling out again, away and gone, and I began to wonder how many more times this would happen before I never woke up.

However, this wasn't that time.

_**You've done it now, Morty.**_ I heard it, but tried to pretend that it was a nightmare, that I wasn't really hearing the voice again. _**Wake up you lazy son of a bitch…**_

It wasn't Ethan that time, or the mafia guys who'd left me here tied up. It was me, that voice that ruined everything once, the sound I hadn't heard in months now.

"Go away."

_**Not today. You need my help.**_

"I've never needed your help, get the fuck out."

_**What? And leave you tied up here…**_

"Go away."

_**Not without you Mr. Rainey. I thought you loved her.**_

"I do love her."

_**She'll die without you. She's dying right now…**_

I had to ignore it, the very thought, the very need for any of this now. My help would only make things worse for both of us. They would kill me; they would kill Roxanne and the baby…

_**Ethan's got her alone now, what do you think he's up to?**_

"Stop it."

_**They want their revenge. On you and her…**_

"Who?"

_**Brucey…and his son. Ethan Klein. **_

"Klein…?"

_**Oh good, you remember.**_

"Bruce Klein…Harvey's son?"

_**Aye Aye, Captain. Took over the family business…go figure. Should be here any minute to remind you.**_

"Ethan is…"

_**Grandson to the guy you fucked with. And Roxanne fucked with him. Small world, isn't it?**_

"Shit. Shit…"

_**That's what I said. **_

Everything stopped, my eyes opened, my mouth was dried with blood and dehydration, my knees and fingers trembled as I looked around the room. I was still alone, except for my mind, the mind that knew more than I did, how…? Unless I knew it all along, had I? Roxanne had never told me Harvey's last name, not once. But Bruce…I remembered him, he was the one that destroyed my Chicago apartment a week before I fled to New York with Amy. And he had a son, I knew that much, I remembered him having a son, a few years younger than me. _Ethan_…Roxanne's Ethan.

_**Something has to be done, Ben. You gotta bring Shooter back. They want the revenge they lost before. Ethan wants to kill Roxy…and Bruce wants to kill you…and the worst part is…**_

"Is what?"

_**They know about the book. **_

"What book?"

_**The one you're writing…now…**_


	19. Something to Die For

**Chapter 19: Something to Die For**

"_The chief threat to the polar bear is the loss of its sea ice habitat due to global warming… According to scientists, saving wildlife from the threat of global warming requires more than reducing global warming pollution…"_

There was really nothing left to do but listen to him ramble on and on with the words I had already heard a dozen and a half times in editing the damn article. My legs were tied, my hands were tied, and my mouth was taped shut. But I could see Ethan across from me, through blurred eyesight and drowsiness at the workings of the pills he'd forced me to take twice more since we'd come back inside. I just sat watching and listening to his voice.

"_Do your part to help reduce global warming and help cool the planet one home at a time…"_ at that I noticed him stop and close the magazine, tossing it to the coffee table as he stood up and walked towards me. His face disgusted me, his sinister grin, the one I had fallen for a lifetime ago, the one I was too stupid to see through. "Well baby…looks like you still got it. I always knew you'd make it big, Rolling Stone…"

I wanted to spit on him as he lowered himself in front of the chair, and ran his hands up my thighs, but with my mouth forced closed I had no choice except to stare directly at him. "You know I've read all of your articles. I'm so proud of you Rae."

Aside from Emily and Jake, no one called me that, no one had ever called me that. I hated him even more for it, and resented him further as he tore away the tape at my mouth, gasping for fresh air. "I just don't know what you see in that Ben guy…he's such a pain in the ass…"

"No, you are."

"Come on, there was a time when you wanted to marry me."

"Before you slept with your secretary! Before you became a criminal." Shouting out the words, I tried to tug my tied arms away from him as he went to loosen them. "Leave me alone…I don't want you to touch me!"

"Why not Rae…you always used to want me to _touch_…you…" His whispering in my ear brought tears to my eyes, painfully stinging, and I again concluded that it was worthless energy spent on trying to get away from him, or trying to defy his strength. I'd missed my chance, only half killed him, and now I was going to have to pay for it. Mort was going to have to pay for it with me.

* * *

_The story…the book. It's us. It's me and Roxanne…_going over the details in my head continuously, like a rusting record player, I still laid motionless on the floor, looking up at the shellacked ceiling. _It's gotta have an ending…I have to write it's ending still…_just as the thought came upon me, a door slowly creaked open from the other side of the room, hauntingly. I couldn't yet see the visitor, but had a feeling I knew who it was just by the pace of steps across carpet, the thick pungency of cologne, and the sound of a rum glass hitting the top of the bar. _Bruce…wonder what took the bastard so long…?_

"Dear Christ, it must be a day for fucking miracles." His voice was still just as sickened as it was thirteen years before, and it grew an octave as I noticed him step toward me, saw the shine of his waxed dress shoes, his Italian cut suit leg and cuff, and eventually, his smiling face. "Benny boy, you're still one sexy little shit. Especially…" he began, kneeling down to come to my level a ways, wiping a starch white handkerchief across my lip, drawing with it a stain of blood, "…beaten to hell. You always were a good looking dead man."

I coughed to reply, "All thanks…" a hack of blood, "…to your well paid…concubines."

"Aha, comedy. You've still got that too. I'll never understand why you choose to write about murder…"

"I think y-you…and I both know why, Brucey."

"Maybe so…" he turned away from me to gesture to the two large men again, from which they left their post at the door to come and lift me back up from the floor, weakly, numbed to the core, and dropped me down onto a couch. Bruce was already at the bar when he looked back over to me, "Cocktail?"

I didn't answer, only grabbed at my ribs, the burning I felt throughout my stomach and bit my lip with the pain as he came to join me in a seat close by. His suit was a strange shade of gray, and even that detail alone felt important to me at the moment, at the point of my assumed death. I wanted to ask him about Roxanne, beg him to let her go for my life; beg him for whatever I could. But in my position, begging would do nothing but prolong the agony of knowing neither of us would leave the ship.

"Tell me something Ben…" He started, taking a sip of his drink and grinning with a crooked head towards me, "…of everything you could have done to hide from us…why the hair?"

* * *

"Your hair, you changed it Rox."

"I changed a lot."

"Like your taste in men…?" I rolled my eyes at him and looked around the cabin of the yacht we were in, only the finest linens and woodwork money could buy. It was a world I had found myself in once, too scared to be anywhere else but a weak linkage of the Chicago mafia, apparently anyway. I had known exactly who Harvey Klein was when Mort had explained himself to me that day. I knew what he was up against, and I had a good feeling about how I had fit into it, how they had found Mort at all. Ask me now why I didn't say anything to him, and I believe I would break down in tears of forgiveness, for having been so stupid, thinking I was helping to save him.

There was no doubt at all I was park of the link, that the chase and the killing, and all of the Benjamin Miller aspects of my life over the last three months had been my own doing. Moving to Lake Tashmore was meant to be an escape from the world I had been suffocating inside of, the job, the duties as a New York celebrity wrangler, as the daughter of the city's top accountant and investor. For twenty eight years I had been surrounded by money, power, the need for the world to fall into the hands holding onto me, and I hated it. Even with the small fortune I had made at the magazine and by my alter-ego, I'd kept it all safe-holed in a bank, and rarely touched it unless need be. I had always prided myself in modesty, even though the world I'd grown up inside of was exactly what the Klein's had always wished for me anyway.

"What are you going to do to him, Ethan?"

"Who…Ben?"

"Yes." I quivered, jolting my eyes back towards him as he sat in the chair beside me, tilting a beer back.

"Well…the guy has a price on his head, $3 million actually. It's been increasing for ten years, since he fucked with my grandfather's business."

"The mafia isn't a business."

"Like hell it isn't…" He spat, taking hold of my bound wrists, "You just never learned to respect it! I would have made you my queen, Roxanne…given you the world."

At his words I nearly laughed, but instead bit my lip and turned my glare upwards to him, silently returning his peace. "All illegally?"

* * *

"You didn't think we'd learn about your little makeover, did ya?"

"I was hoping, maybe you'd compliment my new lipstick shade…" Through gritted and swollen lips, I puckered towards Bruce as he finished off his rum and stood up to walk to the bay window overlooking the ocean.

"You changed your whole life to hide from us. Your name, social security number, right down to your high school transcripts. I have to admit I'm impressed Benny, didn't think you had it in you to go to such lengths."

"Yeah well when you threatened to blow my ass away from the inside out with that shotgun of yours…I took matters into my own hands." He turned away with a smirk to look out of the large glass windows, as I twisted my wrists inside of the rope they were still fixed with. I was regaining strength slowly, just by having this much needed confrontation, but my legs were nonetheless too weak to walk upon.

"And you never stopped writing, either. Even after what it did to you the first time out…?"

"I like to write."

"The truth?"

"Whatever is available for use."

"You were always good at that too, a little _too_ _good_ huh?"

I didn't respond, only watched carefully as he turned back around from the window and grabbed something that looked like a stack of books off of a high counter, and returned to the armchair beside the couch. "Mort Rainey's made a killing…_literally_. Even your colleagues think so…" While he flipped over the cover of one of my books, I dug my eyebrows together and I listened to him go on with the listed reviews, _"Rainey embodies the demonic spirit of every good horror novelist, and brings with it a bestselling tale of romance and revenge." _Bruce looked back up at me and grinned tiredly from the corner of his mouth, "Sounds like a good one, don't you think?"

"Sure. Give us another…"

"Alright…how about this one? Says here, _'It is with words like those of Morton Rainey's that writers become storytellers, and scared children become frightened adults'_…wow, Benjamin. Mighty impressive."

"I do what I can."

"Oh wait…here's my favorite. _'__**Secret Window **__is the heart of the devil's wishes to bring out the bad in every good man. Rainey has triumphed in showing how important fidelity is to not only a good marriage, but a murder case.'"_

I said nothing to him this time, merely focused as he sat the books down on the table, and rose once again to walk in the direction of a second room. In any other instance but mine, it would have been the perfect time to make a run for it, bolt through the pane glass, find Roxanne, jump ship, anything that would work. But my legs were still in no mood to cooperate when I tried to stand, and a second later, Bruce returned.

With a hat.

* * *

"You killed Dave didn't you?" Once the question left my lips I realized the actual power in it, and fixed my eyes harder on him as he stared back. "You killed Lucas…you bastard. H-he was just a kid, Ethan!" The tears melted my cheeks as I sat there, waiting for a response.

"The kid knew too much. And that Sheriff was a fucking idiot, he let Ben get away. Piss me the hell off..."

"Lucas didn't know anything, he wasn't a part of this…"

"Wanna bet, Rae? He knew as much as anyone involved…he saw the whole damn thing."

Attempting to respond through the sobs, I wiped my eyes with my tied hands, "W-what…did he see?"

"He saw Ben, or Mort or whoever the fuck he is…saw him kill his wife, all those people in the woods. Told me all about it when I got to the lake, stopped to ask him directions while he was walking home."

"Why were you there?"

"Initially…to get you back." When his hand came toward my cheek softly, I turned away with a growl and ignored his intimacy as he continued. "But then the kids' details got too interesting to pass up, and he eventually showed me one of Mort's books that he had. And wouldn't you know Roxanne…that Rainey bastard looked an awful lot like someone else I'd known before."

"So why didn't you just kill him then?"

"There was too much at stake, you mostly." I couldn't understand why he was acting so warmly to me, why he seemed to want me back, after what I had done to him. Ethan had always appeared to be a brilliant businessman to me, but his desiring me back in his life was pure idiocy. I killed him once, and would easily do it again if given the chance.

"I don't love you. I love Mort."

"No you don't." I fastened my gaze on him at his remark, as he concluded, "You love Benjamin Miller. And he's been dead for years…"

* * *

He stepped in front of me at the table, the hat in one hand, and a rolled set of papers in the other. I was coughing blood as he settled the old Mississippi bowler down on my lap for me to examine with my own eyes. It was Shooter's hat. The one I'd found at a market sale in the mountains with Amy all those years ago. The one that had given me the power to defeat my demons, take on the murders I had, stand above my own weakness of heart. _John Shooter_ had become my alter ego, much the same that _Roxy Love_ was for the girl I was fighting to save. When in our alternative skins, both Roxanne and I had done things that we could have never dreamed of otherwise. We had committed acts that on any other day would leave the two of us vomiting. And as I sat looking down at the hat again for the first time in almost a three years, I began to wonder what it mean to my case, to my life, to the man standing high above me, reading from the paper.

"_**Running was the only option left for either of us. We were running from our pasts, we were running from our nightmares, we were running from the people we had become unwillingly, in the midst of hell's damnation upon us. Rachel and I were meant to be together, but at what cost, our lives? Our livelihood? What was left?"**_

Bruce was reading, and I was sitting still in my thoughts. Trying to remember the way Roxanne's hair had smelled a few days before, as we had lain on a blanket together in the sand, counting the brightest stars from our backyard. Or the week prior when we had driven down the coast to the island's fish market, to buy shark fin for dinner, just so that the two of us could taste something new, something different. I remembered the night we had made love until the sun broke out over the lake, and how two weeks later, I had been informed through a jail cell that the result of her body melting into mine that night, had been a baby. Our baby. The first thing in a long time to firmly plant me in this earth. Memories were spitting themselves out every crevice of my mind as Bruce kept on.

"_My publisher advanced me for another book last week. I was going to tell you, but then--"_

"_They advanced you with money to buy a house?"_

"_I wanted to buy the house for you, for us. Just ignore how crazy it is for a minute…And tell me you like it." _

"_**Mob bosses aren't interested in how sorry you are, or how you won't ever do something again, all they want is your head, your blood, your screams kept tight in a leather bound jar. They want to watch you suffer while the love of your life is torn apart bit by bit, just from the look in your eyes as you take your last breath. The Corvine mafia would be no different, by the time they found us, by the time they caught up with our activity. They wanted to see me die for what I had done to their rancid name, they wanted to see the woman I loved and our unborn child taken from this world at their corrupted hands, simply because they were a part of me. And should they ever find out the truth about which I had become, all of this and more, would surely happen." **_

"_Mort, I-I love it. Thank you."_

He was reading steadier as he took the hat from my lap, and tossed it away into the openness of the room. We were still the only two around, and his repetition of the words I had written the day before, were strangling me nearly as tight as the rope at my feet and wrists. This was it, he was going to finish me off right here. I, Morton Rainey, Benjamin Miller would die on the leather couch of a mafia boss, at the hand of his fancy weaponry, probably be cut up into a dozen and a half pieces until I could be stuffed inside of a wall, or a trunk, and sunk at the bottom of the Caribbean. And Roxanne Sunshine Hayden, absolute love of my life, the most beautiful woman I'd ever known, the person who had saved me from myself, would be taken to the same hell as I. We would rest side by side in our actions, in our choices, in our chosen names and lives. Forever as the one we had become.

"What's gonna happen now Hemmingway?"

I didn't say a word.

"You're the writer here…you have all of the brilliant conclusions, all of the bestselling endings…"

_Remain still. Don't move. Don't blink. Don't speak to him, Mort. _The voice was back. It had come back for the finale. For the showdown it had created.

"I found the gun you planned to kill your wife with…_figured_…that it would be a nicer gesture than a shovel. I happen to be a complete romantic, Benny."

I winced with the longing pain of an edgy finish, drew blood upwards into my nostril, didn't blink or move or speak, only stared at the rounded fire of the gun in Bruce's hand, nestled against his pants legs, level with my eyes. I wondered why he didn't use a better gun for the job. Something more dangerous, quicker bullets, more damaging bullets. Nothing short of a fireworks display for bored mafia lords. But the gun worked for me, I wasn't interested in the shovel. If it had to happen, I would want it to be quick, casually draining, and give off the loud blow that would cause the sea to startle itself beneath us. It was my fate; that rounded end, its contents, the hand gripped around it. The fingers weren't freshly painted with a merlot red this time, they were fat and rugged. The arms attached to the hands and gun weren't soft, or loving, they were cruel, vengeful, necessary. The face staring down at me wasn't the one I had kissed every day since July, it was the face of my enemy, my every cost and concern in this world, it was the face that was feared by both Ben and Mort. I was glad it was this face. I didn't want it to ever have to be the other.

I quickly caught one last glimpse of the hat laying on the carpet, turned upside down, just waiting to be propped high on someone's desperate head. I heard the rattling of a last call to duty, of a final inquisition to save myself.

_**Shooter's waiting for you…**_

And then there was the cocking of a gun as it came to my forehead, grinding against what skin hadn't been beaten or burned.

"So tell me Ben…how does the story really end?"

* * *

Ethan had spent twenty minutes explaining to me why he still loved me, why he wanted and needed me back, why I could make the perfect mafia wife. He was proud of me for killing him, shocked as I was to hear it, and he found it admirable, sexy, and downright expected for someone involved in the logistics of business and murder that he so often was. I was trying so hard not to laugh at him, or cry at the situation I was stuck in. And as he unwove my hands from the rope a few moments later, taking both of my palms in his warmly, and looked up into my eyes, I began to wonder why God was doing this to me, why he wanted me to suffer so terribly and not just let them kill me.

"Roxanne listen," I didn't want to listen, I just wanted to drown myself. "What I did with Lindsey was stupid, but it's all in the past. I want to marry you, I always have."

"Ethan…I killed you. Why would you ever trust me?"

"Because you're not a killer, you were just mad."

"I'm still mad!"

"I can fix that…" it was impossible for me to trust anything he was saying to me, any proposition he might make, "…I'll make a deal with you, Rae."

Breaking away from the tears that were beginning to shed, I turned my face down to him, "A deal?"

"Yeah. If you marry me…" his hand came to cover mine this time with a bright stone, a ring, and he settled it onto my finger as he finished his statement. "If you marry me Roxanne…I'll make sure my dad doesn't kill Ben. But _only_…if you marry me."

There was nothing really left in my head, it had all been either compromised or contemplated, but it was still functioning. Twisting, ransacking through whatever was remaining for leverage to make the decision. The ring he had placed on my finger was what any woman would want, a brilliant sparkling mess of diamonds and rubies, settled around a plated gold band, something worth its weight in cocaine and prostitutes. It was the essence of the life he was holding over my head as collateral for Mort's safety, it was the life of a mob wife, for the breath of a man I loved more than rubies and diamonds. Tears fell from all four corners of my eyes, consistently, covering my lap, my hands and Ethan's, and dripping between my lips as they shook with a response.

"You p-promise?"


	20. When the Stars Go Blue

**Chapter 20: When the Stars Go Blue**

_We had walked almost two miles to get to Little Maho, the beach that as told by the locals, 'was the most romantic.' To me, anything with sand and privacy was romantic, but Roxanne felt very differently, and I had no disputes over granting her wish to go. It wasn't too far from where we had parked the car at the market, and it was also recommended that we walk for the better view. So we did, for another twenty yards or so until we saw the step-hill down to the coast. _

"_Thanks for bringing me here…"_

"_Couldn't pass up the chance to be romantic, could I?"_

_She smiled and held my fingers tighter as we stepped downward, "You're always romantic to me." _

"_Oh good, I've been worried over nothing for four months then." I laughed, concentrating on her feet rather than my own as we continued. More or less it was my being protective of her and the baby, the whole walking thing made me nervous, although she insisted that she read it was perfectly fine to walk or even jog while she pregnant. I admired her determination at least. _

_We stepped down into the white sand about a minute later, kicked off our shoes at the base of the wooden stairs, and breathed deep as we took in the view. The locals hadn't lied, they never did. It was the finest beach I'd seen since being on the island, even nicer than the one we had to ourselves each day. The trees and grass were thicker, the sand softer, the water so blue it was almost green. Romantic indeed. Roxanne tugged me down further to see the other distant islands, and as we stood looking out, she spoke._

"_The woman in the market said this was the luckiest beach they had." _

"_What do you mean?"_

"_She said because of the wind currents, that this beach has been hit by more hurricanes than any other on the island, or even on St. Thomas."_

"_Doesn't that make it un-lucky, babe?" She tilted her eyes back at me with an annoyed expression and shook her head, continuing. _

"_No, it's lucky. Because it's still here. Most times one hurricane will wash these beaches away completely, move the sand to another island. But this one has been here forever."_

"_Forever huh?"_

"_Yeah. Since pirates were here maybe…I wish I had that kind of luck."_

_The hue of her voice was broadened into a simple kind of wonderment, which I noted as I pulled her closer to me near the water's edge. _

"_My luck is terrible usually."_

"_It might get better." I replied, with a kiss on the top of her head._

"_Yeah right, when the stars in the sky turn blue…"_

_Laughing again, I drew her face back and held her cheeks in both of my palms, "I guess if it's that bad…we'll just have to make a little luck of our own." I pressed my mouth to hers and felt a smile tighten against my lips as she giggled and pulled back. _

"_And does this process of making luck…have a required dress code of some kind?"_

"_Yeah. No dress."

* * *

__When the stars turn blue…that's when she'll have luck. When they fade away into the color of the Caribbean, that's when. _I played over the detail of that segment in time as I sat before the gun, Bruce and his actions suspended momentarily, almost as if God had given me a pause in the universe, to rethink the last of my life and make any final judgment on my choices. _If only we had made a little more luck…a little more often…we wouldn't be in this mess. We'd be back on Maho Beach, swimming naked and kissing under her blue stars. Damn the world and its superstitious nature. _

And at that, the ground began turning on its axis again, Bruce's finger came barreling down against the trigger of the gun, and my throat clenched with a final wish, one even I couldn't discern. _Blue…blue…blue…stars…blue…blue…__**click. **_

_Death. I'm dead, and I felt nothing in the process. It almost feels good, it feels the way I expected it would, nothingness, emptiness, calm. _My eyes were still shifting around inside of my skull when I opened them to see the light, and the end of everything. But instead, I had a second view of that damn gun, the rounded hole, and the way it was shaking in Bruce's palm. Time was slowing to nothing but the speed of sand in the bottom of the ocean, dragging along decades at a time. And I could see it all, I could feel something grinding against the outside of my thigh, in my jeans. It was the same prick I had felt the day before, right before…_the car turned. _

_The ring. The box. It's still there, they didn't find it. And the gun has no bullets, because the mafia boss didn't check to make sure it did. And my eyes are turning away in slow motion, down to my leg on the couch. And there's something poking out of my pocket, not a box, but a glint of silver, of metal. My hands are tied but moving towards it, carefully, inching their way, to touch it, they touched it. And it's not a ring, it's a key, it's a set of keys from the Jeep. And in my head, the keys are now a defense, a weapon even. Bruce has no idea, he's trying to shake a bullet out of the empty gun, magically, cursing at it. And my hand is already halfway through the air with a jingle, when he looks at me, and his jaw drops to reveal a gasp in still, motionless air. He drops the gun when I come nearer, hobbling with tied feet, and diving at him with tangled wrists and key filled fingers. And then there is another pause in the earth, and I hear one thing. _

'_**Because I'm pregnant with his child.'**_

_Yes, yes she is. And then my hand covers ground and air as it plunges into the skin between my enemy's chin and ear, just under his jaw line, burying the tip of the key as deep as it will survive without taking my fingers with it, spilling blood across my hand, a ringing of screams loosening themselves as Bruce falls back towards the bar. I'm still with him, holding the weapon I've created somehow, out of practice of using what I had to my own device, out of luck. And he's dying, not me, him. I'm killing him slowly and softly, without anyone hearing to come in, because he's built his ship well, with sound proof walls. And he's toppling over onto a barstool when I finally wriggle the key out of his neck. He's not dead yet, but he's about to be. I reach for the countertop, where one of his trusted friends has so conveniently left a knife sitting out in a bowl of limes. __**'Cocktail?' **__he said…__**'Why yes Bruce, I think I will.' **__I grab the knife tightly and swing it into the air with a thunderous glitter on his jeweled neck and wrists, when it comes heaving back down into his chest, taking the arteries of his heart with it. _

_And he's not screaming anymore, but grunting. Grunting the way I had planned to do with my bullet wound, making me jealous now that he was the one dying when I had spent almost thirty hours planning my death out. Asshole. But its okay, because I have a reason to live, he does not, and as I twist the sharp edge further into the crevice of his black spirit and soul, I feel relieved by the notion that the events have changed and the tables have turned. Shooter has risen in my veins again, not to mortify me, and not to suck the life out of me, but merely to help. And swiping the knife from Bruce's chest, I stand tall, tied and hobbling on cracked knees, smiling. Because I've just begun to win for the day. _

_I lean down to the floor with a wince of pain, take hold of the black hat at the bastard's feet, dust it off a bit, and ease it onto my head with a grin. He's back, and he's taking nothing but dead prisoners this time. And as I examine my art on Bruce, note the blood seeping out of all open wounds, I nod in approval, and reply with a backwoods Mississippi tone, in conclusion of my first act, __**"That's ow' it ends fucker." **_

From there I used the ruby induced knife to slit the ropes off of my ankles and wrists, took a hearty swig of the drink he'd so kindly fixed for me, and limped out of the room towards the staircase. The yacht was silent except for the burn of the motors and a few TV's and stereos operating. And in the direction the football and rap music was coming from, I hobbled with dangerous eyes.

They weren't expecting anything, the two lumps of men that had broken my bones for twenty-four hours, and as I skidded inside of what appeared to be some sort of entertainment room, I noticed one of them fixed on a video game, his back turned to me, and the other, drunk as a sailor on the balcony, chatting on his cell phone. I had them, both of them at once. Because the glass doors of the balcony would prove too risky for a visual, I decided to take the fatass Chatty Cathy first, and sauntering behind the open wet bar, I ducked between the curtains of the sliding doors, and wiggled it loose from the lock. He never saw me coming, and they never do.

_I'm falling out of the door, a grin on my face and a knife twisting in my palm. And he's on an important business call, I'm assuming, asking his boss what she's wearing, or maybe what he's wearing. But it's all good, because he won't have to worry about his sexual orientation when I'm through, and I am about to be just such a 'through'. The blade lends itself to the open space between my arm and his back, and as I jump outside, I graze his shoulder and let the sharp point fall to the right of his neck bone, digging deep, growling with pain as he falls back against my small form. But I'm stronger than him now, and I prove it by pushing him back towards the railing of the ship, hard, thrusting him into it, over it, his fat wincing at the bars until I can lift him and his screaming out across the rail, and down into the water below. I make sure the blade is safe in my hand before I let him go. And he falls to his death, becoming shark food, or worse, the propeller's distraction. I chuckle and turn back around to the door. The other one heard nothing, as I had hoped. _

"_**Stupid little shit…" **_

_I decide to save the knife for other uses, and tuck it into my back pocket when I see the semi-automatic sitting on the table inside. It's perfect for the X-Box addict, he loves guns I'm sure of it, loves the sound, the feel of the remote's vibration in his palm, and he will surely be grateful for the vibration he's about to experience. I'll do him one last favor. _

_I cross the border of the room easily, the gun fashioned silently into my hand as I step behind him, taking a second, another, a third with a chuckle as I watch him play imaginary football. And because I simply can't help myself, I allow him to bear witness to my presence before firing. __**"Tampa Bay sucks ass."**__ And of course he turns around at the foreign voice as they always do, drops his controller, and grunts into the headset with fear as he looks into the barrel of my new weapon. I don't waste time, because I have none to spare, so my finger drops down against the trigger and the bullet flies out perfectly, peeling away the skin on his nose and temple in unison, jolting, creating stirs and yelps until he eventually lets loose of resistance and falls to the floor. But he's not dead ladies and gentleman, you know how the movies go, they always survive for a good ten minutes before giving up. So I shoot him in the balls twice, because no man, not even I, can live without sex. And he dies. _

"_**Thought so."**_

_I'm quite satisfied by the game room display, so I mentally pat myself on the back, tilt my hat down further and dart out of the room, on my way to find the others deserving of my treatment. On my way to save her, for Mr. Rainey. For Mr. Miller.

* * *

_"No. I won't marry you." Watching Ethan's eyes, I could tell he was about to lose it, thinking that I might have actually given into such a proposal, such a deal. His face turned red slowly as he got up with the rope still in his hand, and walked toward the bed on the other side of the room. I breathed once, but no more in fear.

"Then you leave me no choice Rae…" It didn't take him long to make it back towards me, untie my legs from the chair, and lift my entire body up over his shoulder again, roughly, not caring if I was in pain. And as he walked across the rug back in the direction of the mattress, I already felt that I knew what was going to happen, and I couldn't stop it. He threw me onto the bed as hard as any man possibly could, and leaped on top of me, pulling my swollen wrists against the posts of the headboard, using the ropes again to fashion them sexually, to immobilize my fragile body under the weight of his. I was crying, eyes tired with tears and sweat and blood, but mostly distress. "If you won't fuck me as my wife…then I'll just have to force you to do it now."

"Eth--" I was stopped by his hand, forcing my lips to swell under his palm as he pushed my head back into the pillows. I tried to scream, but it wasn't doing anything except for leaving a salty taste of his hand on my mouth, so I stopped and just cried under him. Still clad in only Mort's t-shirt and boxers from the day before, it was easy for Ethan to tear away the shorts, leaving me with nothing to blockade myself.

"I dare you to say this doesn't feel good…stop crying Roxanne! You used to love this!"

I didn't listen to him for a second, just focused on the sound of a zipper dropping, and the touch of his hand as it wandered up my thigh, touching the spot that lacked any heat at all, but which he was more than determined to change. He was going to rape me and no one would be there to save me, nor would they be there if I made it out alive either. That's why I cried, not because of Ethan's cock settled in his hand, nearing the one place I'd promised myself would never be touched by anyone but Mort again, but because it never _would be_ touched by _Mort_, again.

* * *

The cooks were an easy bunch, the few stewardesses, the private masseuse even. All of then taken down without a hitch of regret or trouble. They were working for the Italian mafia of Chicago, of New York, I had no remorse for their choices or mine. But in my head, I knew there was still one more waiting to be taken care of, and I also knew that if I found him, I would surely find Roxanne. It brought a smile to my face just thinking about it.

I took off down the second stairwell to where I had yet been, the first level of the three tiered boat, a private level it seemed as I fell to the deck. It had one doorway leading inside of the cabin, and it was locked. _Go figure. _I rolled my eyes and shot the knob directly off of the door, kicking it the rest of the way until it flew open to the spacious living room and kitchen of the state suite. My limp was worsening as I ran off towards the two door hallway, two bedrooms it seemed. I ripped open one of them, took a run about its confines to see it empty, and darted back out to the other. When the knob on the second was jammed with another lock, I shot it off, only to discover that it was still stuck with the force of something against it, something too heavy for me to kick open with my bad knees. So I began to push, hard, harder, and that's when I heard the yelling, the sound of a creaking bed.

"_Take it Roxanne…don't you cry…love it…" _There was no scream in return, and I imagined her mouth was being restrained as I heard consistent grunts and shouts of unwarranted pleasure filter through the crack in the door. I barreled into it with everything in me, yelling back at him, "Get the fuck off of her Ethan! Get…the fuck…off of her!" But he kept on, as did I. Pushing, struggling as the furniture slightly budged, then an inch more, and more until I managed to slide between the crack and the table that was holding it shut.

_He's on top of her a good ten feet away, thrusting himself downward, her face is buried in sheets and in his hand. __**Kill im' Shooter. He's asking for it. **__ I step forward only to hear a crack in my knee, and bite my tongue at both the pain and the loss of the perfect moment that has developed, after all I had done to get to her. But I hear distant sobs of agony beneath his palm, and I can just make out the tears on her cheeks even without my glasses, which is when I stand up again from the floor. I'm moving inward to the bed. Ignoring the activity that wasn't invited, only focusing on the gun flickering in my hand, angled at the headboard where his face is bobbing up and down, from thrust to thrust with pleasure. I aim it carefully, trying to keep it above the level of her face and out of harm's way for her, but it's difficult. He's moving too much, doing what he shouldn't be, and pissing me off to no end. Eventually, out of hope and praise, I yell to her, __**"Roxanne move your head!"**_

_And because even in distress she has a perfect ear and eye, her face darts down further into the pillows surrounding her, tugging away from his hand, and my finger zips down into the trigger once, twice, three, four times, sending out a cloud of smoke and light through the room, directly towards the headboard. Crackles of dust and wood filter at the scene, my eyes stinging with it, and no sound emits from around me. I worry immediately that I screwed up, that I didn't do what I was supposed to, that my intentions for Mr. Rainey had been useless this time. So from the doorway I dart towards the mattress, coughing through the dust, and searching the sheets and skin for her. And when I see a faint glow of Merlot red against all of the white and gray, I reach out and take hold, pulling her body towards me, dragging her out from under his lifeless, sack of shit form. She can barely move, but in the breakdown of the moment, there is beauty in her delicate smile as she falls to black. _

And Shooter was gone. Just like that he left me, jumped right out, ran for the hills of destiny as the black hat tumbled down to the carpet and the gun landed on the bed. He'd completed the task and even with all of the pain in my knees and the obvious distress of her shaken body, we were alive. I lifted her from the bed carefully, not saying a word, but only holding her tightly in my arms, walking from the room.

I didn't know what to do from there, I didn't know if the baby was ok, if she was ok, if I would be alright, but I had her in my arms, and that must have counted for something in this world.


	21. Rather Lovely Thing

**Chapter 21: Rather Lovely Thing**

The first thing that one should know about death...is that there is no pain. The moment that the darkness claims the hold, the last second that you breathe, everything disappears into a place that the _living_, love to discuss and debate the possibility of. It isn't heaven really, but I certainly know that it isn't hell either. It is perhaps the calmest of all purgatories one can imagine, a blank canvas of hazy light, an open space belonging only to the one who has been taken. It is a place to think, to drift, to accept what will come next.

In this space, I only thought of two things.

The first was my baby, the one which had surely died with me in its premature growth. I thought of all the names that I had come up with, the ones I had been so proud to develop creatively; in the few bored hours I spent in our bungalow.

**_Alexandria Jade, Isabelle Rose, Cecilia Anne Rainey…_**

**_Holden Finn, Edward Hale, Benjamin James Miller…_**

They were storybook options, all save for the very last, the one I had hoped and prayed and bargained for, _a little Ben. _I knew that he would be perfect, all ten toes, all ten fingers, the most squeezable cheeks and the softest golden curls. That was him, the way I pictured his existence for almost five full months, the dreams I had of him, the reverie of absolute exactness. This though, would be majorly attributed to the better half of who Little Ben would be, his _father_, his _old man_, his _dad_. These words, these brands of epic style took on entirely new meanings when I had first learned that I was pregnant, for the first time in my life. A woman in this state, especially me, begins to think about the future in a nanosecond, all of things left to prepare for, all of the moments that will come between the baby, you, and the man who helped to create.

No woman though, had ever been as lucky as I was, for this I was damned sure. There were no other Mort's in the world, there couldn't possibly be. The balance of the universe would be forever lost with anyone as unjustifiably ideal as him. God wouldn't do such a thing.

Mort was my second focus as I floated through the invisible clouds of my mind, of the strange waiting room that death had provided me. It went on for hours, days probably, weeks easily. Thoughts of him, scattered figments of what I assumed was my perpetual memory, followed me from one life to the next. Through the white, I saw cinnamon brown; I saw sea green, strawberry pink, and spaghetti sauce red. In the silence, I welcomed the memories of pain, pleasure, laughing, crying, screaming, and hopeful fear. Black lines jutted out in ringlets to form images in my head, a smile I remembered, a hand I knew fit perfectly around mine, a cabin in the woods, a cottage on an island, a tag-less Labrador, a rusting Jeep, a night babysitting in the city, an escape plan in havoc, a jetting excursion, a lucky inheritance, an old Van Halen t-shirt, coffee, wine, Aerosmith, chocolate chip cookies, sharpie marker love notes, death, more death, worse death, a pink plus sign on a white plastic strip, a jailbreak, a flashing Motel sign overhead, unrestrained kisses, chafing linen, curling toes, screaming, good and bad, a warning of evil, a dozen ignored phone calls, a story about polar bears, a yacht, the meanest man in the world, death.

I saw it all, jumbled, confused, but there in its entirety. Over and over and over and over again. It never stopped, because somehow, although I was gone, I never stopped either. My brain, whether realistically or not, was still in the basic mode of functioning, and it wound together every image, every sound, every subject matter conjured up.

**"_It's fine, I love dogs."_**

**"_You can have this one if you want…he's free." _**

**"_Nice to meet you, Miss Roxanne Hayden. Not the song."_**

**"_Milk and um, two spoonfuls of sugar."_**

**"_Perfect…"_**

It began with a confused dog and strangely enough, ended with a confused, me. Everything started out normal, peaceful, and in a matter of weeks, grew to be nothing short of a Prozac desperate soap opera. I clung to Mort with all the power fighting within me, never wanting to admit that giving up was wise, and always trying to think of some better way that a murderer, and well a murderer, could be…_rightfully_.

**"_I think he looks like Prince Charming from my book!"_**

**"_Mort…would you do me a favor? Will you kiss me…?"_**

**"_Eww…are you two going to have sex?"_**

**"_Don't worry, you won't miss thing. I won't let you."_**

I knew I hadn't. It was all plastered so clear in front of me now, the truth, the bare agents of cause, of effect. Where one bridge stands, another must fall. So why then were all of mine burning, chained to my own neck, with the flames slowly moving in to consume my body as well? Why had nothing I worked to protect, lasted? Why did Ethan get his way? Why did the sense occur to me now, that Mort had probably been lost the same as me? Why did my child have to suffer along with our stupidity?

_Why?_

**"_Shit…there was someone in the road, are you alright? Oh god…you're bleeding…"_**

**"_What the hell are you doing? Roxanne…look at me, wake up! Come on…breath…"_**

**"_I s-saw something…eyes…down there…"_**

The eyes are the transport to the whole of the person being investigated, wouldn't you say? I saw an indefinite world of chaos, confusion, pain, anger, resentment, and lastly heartache, in Morton Rainey. I took a chance on him, a grave one. There was nothing I could have done to harm him any further, anymore than Amy had, and in some disturbing way, that comforted me.

**"_Well I do tend to bite sometimes."_**

**"_I'll take my chances…"_**

**"_Didn't anyone ever tell you not to go inside of a stranger's house?"_**

**"_Maybe I like danger…"_**

**"_I can take care of you, fuck it all, and just stay here with me."_**

Dangerous, capable, scheming, resourceful, tempting, and determined…all qualities of Mort. Tender, compassionate, fearful, concerning, proud, and again _determined_…the constant reminders of Ben still deep down inside, under the rough exterior. I won unpredictability in love. I won what most women…what even I…had killed for once.

**"_Lucas Hayes, his body was found in the North end of the lake…at the back of your property, Roxanne."_**

**"…_don't you say a word to these officers, you have every right to your attorney. Do you hear me?"_**

**"_Don't leave me…whatever you do, don't leave me Mort…"_**

**"_I've got you. I'm right here."_**

He never left me when I needed him, and only half the time when I didn't. Aside from Sydney and a few close friends, nothing had ever even attempted to bid comparison against Mort. I knew the moment I got the call about Lucas, that things would be different, but never once did I imagine it the way it actually occurred. It was the downward spiral from the untouchable climax…like all great stories.

**"_You're going to hate me…you hate me!"_**

**"_I could never hate you…I could never, God…I love you!"_**

**"_I killed someone."_**

**"_Mort Rainey killed Amy Rainey…not me…I would never hurt you, I promise."_**

**"_We arrested Mort Rainey about an hour ago."_**

**"_Let him out, Sheriff…please."_**

**"_Give me one good reason…"_**

**"_Because I'm pregnant with his child."_**

And there it was for all to see, the creation, the equal sign at the end of our togetherness. The baby, Mort, I was gone now, drifting in our own separated canvases of intermittent thought, feeling. One of them I had never gotten to know, although I felt I knew him, her, all along. The other, was and would always be the second half of my memory, my name, even though he had never given me his own. Mort would never belong to anyone else. I would never belong to another now. Forever through the eternity I felt covering me now, we would somehow be contained and connected.

In my life, I once read a quoted statement by Mark Twain, and it read simply:

**_The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time._**

Of this, I am and will always be, absolutely confident in. Whether my death was justified or not, whether the sound of love had truly conquered evil in the final minutes of my life, I would always know in myself, that I did everything I could, that I made consciously perfect decisions based on the protection, the preservation of those I loved without restraint.

Dying isn't painful. In fact, it disguises itself well as only a rather lovely dream.


	22. Sleeping Sun

**Chapter 22: The Sleeping Sun**

I have to admit, I was always curious what it would be like to find myself separated from the world, as if I were an entirely separate entity from gravity, as if I were my own planet. What would happen to a man, if he were somehow detached from the one and only thing holding him in place, what if his strings were severed to bare ends, what if he had only but to drift for eons until finding a new provider, a new planet to bind itself to?

_Would he survive that long? Could he survive that long? _

No planet, no safety net, would ever touch her, could ever come close enough to hope to touch her. I have been a greedy man for far too long, and this separation from my planet's orbit, is the punishment. Any easy way out of something, I took for far too many years. Creating an entirely new identity was selfish, ridiculous, and altogether the worst choice I have ever made. In the end, I accomplished only half of what I thought I would with the name Mort Rainey. The other half, I lost.

At least I think I did.

She wasn't breathing. _God, why does she never breathe when I need her to? _The doctors, the nurses, the people in the white coats with the solemn grins took her away the second I brought her to them. They assured me, she would be fine. Just like in the movies.

"_Don't worry Mr. Rainey," _they said, _"We're going to do everything we can for her…"_

What the hell does that mean anyway? They're going to take her down a long hallway, through a set of doors that have a wordless signal of **DO NOT ENTER** covering them, hide her away in some room that they won't tell me the number to, hook her tiny, already lifeless body up to a hundred machines, one for each and every organ she has, and a hundred more for the baby. Through all of this, she will remain unconscious, lost someplace that they won't allow me to even attempt helping her escape from, and which in the meantime, they're going to tack on a hundred dollars a minute to a bill that won't accept U.S insurance policies. If that's helping her, then I'd rather take care of it myself, pretend that just like in those nameless children's fairytales, my lips can undo whatever spell the bastards put her under, bring her back to life. No, I won't ride her away on a white horse, and no I don't have a castle to keep her safe in. But at least I'd be there if she ever woke up again.

Instead, they've offered me the same treatment they had her, brought me to a room with a wall of buttons, of medicinal chivalry. They laid me up in a bed, knocked me out with pills, and jabbed whatever they could fit into my already stinging, pulsing veins. Before I had passed out, I heard a nurse gasp and reply to my leg wound in her heavy British Isle accent, _"Wot' kind of a person does that to another? Criminals on the islands…truly sad, don't you think Liz?"_

The other spoke wildly, a younger girl by the sound of it, my head was too heavy to concoct any more details than that, _"It's awful. His poor wife is pregnant and in even worse condition than this…I just, can't imagine the thought of what they went through." _

That was the final sound I heard before I fell asleep, before my mind recoiled into some supernatural dream world of blackness and hatred. For hours, days, it's all I thought about, it's all I saw. Roxanne, tired, dying, and not caring at all what happened to her, in an attempt to rescue our child first. I saw her bloodied, screaming, crying out for me, and I wasn't there. I saw those same doctors pushing her to continue, to force the baby from within her, I saw them cheering for the end, for her death. I watched as she held her eyes open long enough to peer over a nurse's shoulder, catching a glimpse only of the life she had helped to create, before there was no time left for her, and her head fell back against the pillow without my hand to catch it.

Though God as my only witness knows, I tried over and over again through every nightmare.

The details of my sleeping head were off kilter so often that I eventually realized them to be nothing more than figments. Roxanne had another five and a half months before she would ever even have to concern herself with going into labor, the baby was still inside of her, growing. And I knew, that whether the doctors chose to answers my questions honestly or not, that she was strong enough to fight off the world that had propped itself upon her shoulders. She was tough, more than I had ever once given her credit for. She had nearly killed herself to help me, to keep from dying under Ethan's hands, she'd struggled against iron bars, drowning, and high speed chases just to stay with me, to never give up on the truly fucked up escapade we had been leading.

My planet has guts.

At that thought, then, I woke up. Not for the first time since being in my hellishly cold, disturbingly blue hospital room, but certainly for the first time with a plan.

* * *

_I'm alive, just asleep. I'm still here; I'm still on the earth…just…resting. Right? _I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn't budge. I tried to move my arm, but that was stuck too. And I realized then that either I was dead, paralyzed, or temporarily not right in the head. I prayed to God it was the latter of the three.

Mort was on my mind too, and so I wondered whether it meant I was just dreaming or not, dreaming about the only good thing I had left. I could feel his hair in my hands, and hear his voice in my ear, his skin on mine, his toes twisted in mine, his body within me; I could still feel all of that and more. It was too real to be a dream, it was a memory, but one that could be repeated as easily as it had come. I began to smell something, spices, a gingery whiff of a person or human flesh, the aroma of nutmeg, warm cocoa, pine needles, dirty snow on the ground, and cinnamon. I liked it almost too much for my position.

_Somebody bring him to me, please. I'm ok, I'll wake up if he's here…I know I will. I want to see him, I want to touch him…_I begged in my mind, I pleaded, but no one heard me. So I continued to sleep, hoping that's all I was doing.

* * *

I'd escaped jail already, so a hospital room would be nothing at all. I waited until the nurses had performed all of their hourly tests, fed me the pills they insisted I needed, and given me food. I watched everything manically from the bed, full hallways of workers, patients, carts, and when it was clear for the first time, I pushed back the sheets, yanked the tubes, the needles from my arms, my nose, bit away the short pain and jumped out down to the floor. At first, I felt lightheaded, but it passed. My clothes were folded and piled at the bedside table, and hobbling with them, I darted into the bathroom, locking it.

Once I had dressed in my dirtied, bloodied jeans and t-shirt, I snuck back out into the room, the empty, solo room, and waited near the doorway to the hall, listening for the sound of shoes, of carts. I had to execute this part perfectly, or risk being recognized and thrown back into the bed with more medicine and mashed potatoes. These nurses were like Nazi's. Nothing like back home in the states, they _wanted_ you to heal at all costs.

I guess it would be money well spent when I escaped with her.

After another ten minutes or so of waiting, the hall cleared out almost completely, with a single, uninterested nurses' aide working on charts at the far end. In her obliviousness, I jumped into the hallway and took off towards where I recalled a stairwell being. It was of course not for patients, but I didn't care at this point. I snuck past each room with a limp on my bad leg, past every white coat, every single concerning eye until I made it to the secured doorway and thrust it back, leaping through. The cemented stairwell was empty as well, and echoed with each staggering step I took, holding to the rail tightly. I was only on the second floor, heading for the third when I heard the sound of tiny footsteps, of innocent whispering. I thought about stopping, going back down to level 2 and waiting, but at the point of internal aggression I was at, no one was going to stand in my way of getting to where she was.

"_I'll tell mommy if you don't take me."_

"_What do I care? And stop carrying that ugly thing around!" _

Glancing up the flight of steps to see shadows playing out on the concrete walls, I immediately saw an object falling down towards me, and caught the soft doll in the palm of my hand before it hit the ground. The voices became angry and humored, one of each, as two small heads poked over the railing a good ten feet up, to look down to me. Two small faces, surprised, that I knew anywhere.

"Mr. Rainman!"

A second later, Emily was flitting down the steps a mile a minute, her tiny shoes clacking with the floor until she came down to my level and leapt into my arms. I caught her as if I had been preparing for the same feeling my whole life, the sensation of a little girl, maybe even mine, jumping into my arms with excitement. I had to admit, it felt better than most any emotion I'd ever once caught onto.

"You didn't die!" She screamed again into my ear as I chuckled warmly, accepting of the joy she held for my health, and drew her back while I handed off the ragdoll.

"Nope. And neither did your doll." She grasped it immediately, thanking me with gumption, just in time for Jake to come down to meet us, rolling his eyes. Surprisingly, he said hi without sarcasm and I returned the welcome. It was short lived though, as I remembered the real reason why I was even on the stairwell in the first place and I settled Emily back down on the step higher up from me.

"Where did you guys come from, upstairs?"

"Yep." He replied quickly, toying with his electronic something or other.

"Is that where Roxanne is?"

"Aunt Ray?" He asked, as if he had never heard another name before.

"Yeah…where is she?"

"She's on the floor with all the fat ladies!" Emily chimed in with a wide smile, as Jake sighed in annoyance and reprimanded her with a shove.

"They're pregnant, stupid."

"Yeah…the baby floor."

_The baby floor…_for whatever reason, I appreciated the sound of that. It made it less intimidating, it gave it a softer, happier feel than the place I feared they had taken her to. I accepted _the baby floor _without an ounce of effort.

"Come on," Jake shouted then, taking my hand and pulling up the steps, "We'll take you."

"Thanks buddy." I smiled.

And they certainly did take me to the right place, four more floors up, the seventh level of the hospital, where in large black stenciled letters it read, **MATERNITY****,**upon the concrete wall. Jake shoved open the heavy door with force, Emily held onto the back of my dirty shirt, and together they tugged me into the softly lit, peaceful sounding hallway. _Her_ hallway.

A few distant women at a desk seemed to stare in our direction, but said nothing, almost as if they were used to Emily and Jake's antics on their floor. Instead they smiled in my direction with a nod of acceptance, and went back to filing papers. Jake nearly ripped my arm of it's already wounded socket and pulled me down the tiled, shaded hall, sneaking and ducking me past the waiting room, where sat the entire Hayden family and then some, and continued on past each doorway. He counted the room numbers as he remembered them, and each time we passed one, I poked through the scene of women, crying babies, ecstatic husbands, hoping my destination would end up being just as joyous.

"It's this one!" He yelled softly as the three of us landed in front of **ROOM 801**. How familiar those numbers seemed, staring at them for an added moment before I peered through the small window of the door. 8…0…1. August 1st, the day we met. How did I remember such a thing? Was it because my life had never been the same since that day? Was it because the 1st of August found me as myself again? Is that why I knew the numbers like I knew the color of her eyes, or the texture of her lips, her skin?

"Go see her quick, before my mom comes…" Looking down to Jake again, I smiled, thanked him and Emily both, and watched as they tiptoed off to keep guard in the waiting room. And then there was just me and the door again, one further standing hold between where I was and where I needed to be more than I needed oxygen. I slid my eyes over and in through the window, catching the sight of the woman I had dreamed about for however many hours and days, breathing steadily, her chest rising and falling, eyes soft and swollen shut, monitors beeping to allow me the knowledge of knowing she was still with me, still here, still now.

Before I knew what was happening, the door opened under my touch, carefully drawing itself back to reveal the cooler air of the room, the sound I could only faintly hear before. I heard her breath and followed it like a bread crumb trail, limping to her bedside as quietly as I could manage. The closer I came though I wished I had stayed back long enough to adjust to the room and the feeling. The more of her face that came into view under the blankets, the more bruising I saw, the more damage, the weaker, the more in pain she appeared to be.

_Keep walking…reach out…take her hand. Don't be stupid, she won't break. _

I continued to fight myself until my boots were planted firmly to the side of her bed, as my eyes adjusted to the view of her in such a state, as my heart leapt back up from my stomach and began beating again. Shaking, I moved my hand across the edge of the bed until it landed on top of hers, as light as possible, as in my mind, I was too afraid to bruise her further. I could have sworn that my touch caused a stir in one of the monitor's beeping, but I wouldn't have bet on it then. Her breathing remained steady, and yet still passive, her eyes shut against the real world, against me.

I took a seat in waiting by her side, my hand never once managing to slide away from hers. I don't remember ever resting my head, but somehow, after a good hour of watching her chest rise and fall, of listening to nothing but the sound of her sleep; I found my own dreams again.

They were much better this time.

* * *

My grandmother was famous for telling stories. _'It's in her nature,_' as my grandpa used to say, _'It's her way of living.'_ And I always believed he was right, even though I was not half as much a fan of the stories as my sister was. She loved them, and would curl up on the couch with Gram, a cup of cocoa in both hands, her ski cap on inside, simply because she was that kind of free loving child. There was nothing separating my grandmother from my sister, and in fact, I often wondered if they shared the same heart, or at least the same spirit.

There was one story in particular that my sister enjoyed the most, it was one that sent her into either a fit of joy, or a spell of peace and sleep, all depending on the weather and her mood. The story is simple, much as she always has been to me, and it goes as follows:

"_Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a country where it was always raining, raining and raining; downpours of rain all day, every day, for years and years and years. And there lived a little boy, in a little house on the mountain, with his Daddy and his dog._

_He was nine years old and every day of his life, it had rained and rained, all day and all night._

_Can you imagine it always raining and always being wet?_

_People were always telling him that, before he was born, there had been such a thing as a sun; this was a ____**big, round, yellow thing**__, which gave warmth and light to everything and everybody and it always had a smile on its ____big, round, yellow face__. And to see that smile on the sun, people would look at it and smile back at it._

_The little boy could not seem to picture the idea of a ____**big, round, yellow, smiling face**__, as he had never seen one. And he could not believe that people could look at it and smile, because in his little village, nobody smiled; they all looked sad._

_One day, the people began to comment that the skies seemed a little lighter. It was still raining and the black clouds were still there, hanging in the skies, but it did seem lighter._

_The following day, people began to comment more, that it seemed to have rained less. The next day, it only rained for half the day. The next, it only drizzled and trickled. The next day, it stopped raining._

_The following day, there were white clouds and not black ones. Next, there were bits of blue sky. Until suddenly, there were no clouds at all and a ____**big, round, yellow thing**__sat heavily in the sky, giving warmth and light to everybody. And the people looked up at this thing and they smiled to see it because it had a ____**big, beaming smile**__on its face._

_And the little boy sat up in bed and saw a thing he had heard in stories: __**a **____**big, round, yellow**____ thing__ up in the sky, with a smile on its face. "____That must be the _**_sun_**_!" exclaimed the little boy, smiling back. And he ran into the streets and saw that everyone else was smiling. _

_And they all lived happily ever after."_

I could never figure out why such a basic story, with hardly any moral at all, would appeal to her. As simple as she was, my sister had a brilliant, complex mind as a child, and she still does. The two did not seem to fit to me, but when I felt certain there was a reason for it, I began to try to understand. For twenty years, I never determined what it was, she continued to enjoy the effortless story, and I continued to remain confused.

But two days ago, when I got a call that nearly broke my body in two, I remembered the story again and began to dote on the message. The sun, a round, smiling being in the sky, meant something to my sister, it always had. Whenever her life was running in the ruins of darkness, of a bottomless pit of work and stress, of frustration and hatred, the sun was what she waited to see, what she prayed for. And eventually, I believed it always came to her through the _rainy_ nights.

After I hung up the phone, I stopped a moment to think before packing, and I wondered on who her _**sun **_had become at that time. Mort Rainey had called from the hospital in St. Thomas on Tuesday, and I was the first person he contacted after they arrived, even before he allowed the doctors to examine his own wounds. He called me, the big sister. And for that, I knew he was the light in her darkness as she had tried to explain to me months before, the last time I had spoken with her. She had struggled to convince me that he had changed her, helped her to grow out of the life she hated, and see an entirely new way to be and live, a simpler, easy, sunlit way of living. And when I had not listened, she went and lived it anyway. Until, it had left her attached to monitors and tubes in a hospital bed in the middle of a distant island.

The direct flight to St. Thomas on my husband's company jet was almost seven hours long, with two tired kids, and nothing but my fear and nerves. I had not told my mother about Roxanne for obvious, need-to-know basis kind of reasons. My dad knew, and had directed me to give him any heads up needed on the trip. I also had to contact Roxanne's boss Jack, who I remembered from a few company parties at the holidays, and who also chartered a private jet behind us to come to St. Thomas with a few of my sister's closest friends. These people, I realized, were also her sunlight.

By the time I made it to the hospital with Emily and Jake in tow, there was very little they would allow me to do, except sit and continue my waiting in their private family suites, rather than the plane. I knew nothing about Roxanne's condition, or Mort Rainey's for that matter, and I fought every nurse or doctor who stepped past me for hours over it.

After a while, Jack showed up with Roxy's friends Casey and Eric, bearing gifts of all kinds, food, and entertainment for the kids. This eased the tension for a while, and Jack's consoling eased my mind. Still, there was nothing new on her condition. It bothered me mostly because I was her older sister, and for the majority of my life, while my father had run off on countless business trips and my mother had kicked herself into wino binges, I was her everything, I was her mother and father. I had saved her life on more than one occasion over the last twenty years; I had given her mine a couple times as well, and even taught her how to save hers all on her own. However, this time, I could not take any credit and neither could she. The man credited and whom I was now indebted to was a man we had all plastered as the enemy, the wrongdoer, and the criminal that would surely bury my sister alone.

We were all dead wrong.


	23. Let Me Sign

**Chapter 23: Let Me Sign**

_Ten fingers and ten toes the same. 20 full inches. 7 lbs, 6 ounces of glowing, smiling perfection. From behind the thick glass of a long window, I can see the world, I can see the reason God gave us the ability to breathe. For nine long, risky months, I carried the face before me; together we ate, roamed, and slept as one. And now, here, bundled into the softness of a blue blanket, yawning from exhaustion, curling his legs into a ball, is my baby boy. There was very little before this moment in time, I understand this as I narrow my gaze on his drifting eyes. _

_Hearing a muffled noise to my left, I turn my head away from the glass to see him, the father of this beautiful, undeniable form. With this man, I made this baby, once. He laughs with tears in his eye at the window, never turning toward me, never reaching out for my hand, or my waist, or me at all. He cries as if it will be his only opportunity and smiles as if he's never done such a thing before. The closer and longer I watch him without awkwardness, I begin to realize that he cannot see me, and I am not there at all to him. _

_I am gone now. Perhaps for only hours, but it is done here. _

_Looking back at the window, I kiss the tips of my fingers and lightly press them to the glass over the image of my son, leaving not a streak or stain. When my tears begin to fall in an imaginary chorus with Mort's, I turn away to glance at him again. Although I'm aware it will do not good, I reach my hand up to brush away, or at least to attempt to, the tears that have slowly curled down his cheek toward the corner of his mouth. They dry instantly at my touch, and as if a gust of wind had blown in through the large doors of the hallway, his face flinches away from the window. _

_And that's when I know that although I am gone for now, I am not dead to him. My eyes are too heavy to truly be away from him, my legs too solid with stiffness, with an alternate flow of blood, of something holding me to the earth. All I have to do is open my eyes, somehow, force them open, and he'll be there waiting still. He hasn't given up on me quite yet, and so I have no right to give up on myself. _

_With every ounce of energy in my mind, I push against a clear wall of nothing, of thought, of triumph and pain, of the world that has been pushing back for days, months, decades. As if my legs are trampling the dusty ground, I run to nowhere but the place I need to awake from, I dart away from the hospital window, through doors, one after the other, passing other patients, the faces of people I have known throughout my life, those who have hurt me and those who have saved me, I'm passing my life. Not to get to the other side, not to resolve my successes with eternity, but to remember why I must open my eyes, who is sitting patiently by on the other side of the clouded force-field holding my mind away from my body. _

_Mort. My sister. My child. _

_I try to scream to tell them that 'I'm coming', that 'I'm on my way', but when I cannot hear myself, I rest assured that it will do nothing more. Instead I keep running, flying maybe even through years, moments, memories, through everything that I ever smiled at, everything I cried about, through birth, death, love, agony, the truest of emotions given to any one person. I experience them all over again, relishing in the lessons that were being taught to me, the ones I have carried along this strange road. _

_It isn't until I hear a constant beeping overhead and see the blue smog separating, that I realize I can do it, I can open my eyes.

* * *

_**Beep. Beep. Bah-beep. Beep. Beep. **

Brightness is the first thing I see in this new place, this new room. Sparkling, dust-filled fluorescent light, thundering clouds of it billowing across my eyes, all over my body, until I can push through. Here, past the glow, I see a familiar, human-like darkness, the shade of a tuned out light, the gloom of nighttime passing in through a window.

**Beep. Beep. Beep. Bah-beep. **

Shapes appear now, objects, materials of the mortals, of the real world. Machines surround my head, and wires run the length of my arms as my head droops down into the pillow further. I watch the ceiling fall away as my head does, to the right of the comfortable, giant cloud I'm laying on. Squinting them closed against the heat of something beside me, I feel a burn inside of my freshly opened eyes.

**Beep. Drip. Beep. Bah-beep. Drip. Drip. **

I count to three. _One. Two. Two and a half…_I take a breath that I can barely feel or understand, and then _three. _I can see the world again for what it is. I see what I'm supposed to know, what I'm still supposed to be, with who and where. None of the machines or sound effects of their care on my body matter, the sound of pattering footsteps outside of this room, the smell of disinfectant and uneaten hospital food doesn't make a difference. The heat that stung my eyes was the world, reminding me of all it did, and who it has led me to, where it can take me and what it can give me. The burn was the envelope of breath from a man, who in his obvious concern, had fallen asleep with his head beside mine, tucked into his folded arms, as uncomfortably as anything I'd yet seen him accomplish.

The waiting had worn him out, which meant it had been long.

Daring not to rouse him, I lay without movement, my head tossed against the pillow's end, leaning in to where our noses kept a three inch margin for breathing. I watched carefully as his back rose and fell behind him, his eyebrows twitched with his dreams, his drool slid down as gracefully as possible from the corner of his mouth to the hand it rested upon. This made me laugh inside, and smile elsewhere as I continued analyzing him. I can't recall the last time I had the occasion to do this, to watch him drift through sleep like a child in a maze of trees, calm but concerned, jumpy but relaxed. It always did amuse me, and even unconsciousness, even my suddenly healed, comatose state of mind could not keep me from retaining this interest.

A moment later, he smiled with a stir.

As I waited for him to wake up entirely, my hand weakly fell across the small bed, as the tips of my index finger touched his mouth, tracing slowly. He again stirred more, but into my finger further instead of away, as if he knew the purpose of it already and appreciated its placement. His eyelids lightened in mood and flinched when I continued to trail along his lips sublimely, the dimpled corners of his mouth, his right cheek, until my arm grew too numb from the movement and I had to stop.

It was at this point though, that he lifted his head.

His hair, ruffled into spunky curls on one side, and flattened to the plane of his palm on the other, made me giggle, coughing thereafter at the small but difficult shake of my body. Blinking his swollen, purple eyes wide, the smile remained as he caught sight of me, for the first time in what felt like forever. It felt like the first moment I had met him, in my grandmother's backyard, and removed my shades to see him realistically, beautifully, the way the world meant for him to look. Mort hadn't changed at all between the months of August and now…_whenever now was. _If I had to guess, it would be the last few days of November, but I didn't know. I kept my focus on him instead, thinking he would eventually fill me in on everything I'd missed, if there was much at all.

He yawned once and fit his hand around mine, trying not to pull on the needles, and whispered with a tired groan, "Sweetheart...you're awake." He had never called me that before, not yet in our four months together, or again, however long I'd been his, this was a first. It made me smile, weakly, but still acceptable in tone. His hand rubbed the back of mine, between the IV and wristband, and then moved in to brush at my cheek, which I realized was about twenty degrees cooler than his fingers. "Can you hear me?"

Why was he asking me that? Of course I could hear him, I was the first one to wake up, I saw him first, and I was the one who watched him sleep. Yes, I could hear him perfectly fine, was he seeing something that I couldn't feel? Were my ears chopped off, was I listening to him telepathically? Why was he asking that question?

I crossed my eyebrows as I nodded my head, trying to refuse the tears I felt pooling in the deep sockets of my eyes. The palm of his hand cupped my cheek, his thumb wiping away the strands of hair in my eyes, as I watched his shift back and forth, looking for something. What on earth did he want?

"Do you feel sick? Is something hurting?"

I truly wanted to yell at him, tell him to go back to sleep and ignore fixing what didn't feel broken at all, but he kept looking at me, caressing my hair, my face, as my tears soaked his hands. I was so afraid to attempt movement, thinking that maybe I was missing a limb, or that maybe I was paralyzed after all, or even worse, that I wasn't awake at all and this was the real nightmare. I could only cry, heavily, as his questions went on, things I could barely hear over the rattling in my head, the screaming, and the hardened pounding into my forehead, like a headache in overdrive.

When finally it broke down again, and he took a breath, I wheezed with my first word, like a grown woman stuck in an infant's body, unable to speak her mind, unable to say she was fine. "Mort…" it was a clearly effortless phrase, but one that held a hundred more questions for him to ask of me. As I coughed back the flood of tears, of throaty congestion, I felt his burning lips melt the iced skin of my forehead, holding my head in place as my body began to tremble under his touch. I was truly frightened to receive the answers I needed, the ones I feared they had given him long before I had woken up. So I chose to let him hold me instead, for however long he wanted or needed, or felt I wanted or needed, I allowed him to be the judge of it. I had no strength to judge my emotions at the moment.

A few minutes passed by though, and when he remained standing, covering my body with his, whispering softly into my ear as his hand moved down to touch my stomach beneath the blankets, I felt a surge of energy suddenly pummel through me, a reminder of something I'd forgotten so quickly with waking up. His fingers traveled over the small rounded plateau that my stomach had become in the real world, before all of this, before the pain and Ethan. I had been pregnant; I still was, wasn't I?

"I love you so much, Roxanne. This has been killing me…waiting without you." His murmuring sigh in my ear forced an entirely new wave of tears as I tried to silently decipher what he was getting at, if there was a singular or doubling purpose behind the words. Did he just love me, or did he love me _so much_, because something had happened, something bad, something that didn't hurt me, but hurt someone else? Did he know information that was a secret to my own ears; did he know something about the baby?

The baby.

That's when it hit me, between the eyes where his lips were settled. Mort's hand on my stomach was almost morbidly tantalizing, as if he were caressing the memory of something, rather than the heart. It was remorseful the way he held me, the things he continued to say in my ear, the kisses that were as far from romantic as possible. And in all of this, I found the strength to rise above the tears, to lift my weak, jelly arms, and force him to look at me, to listen to me.

"Stop it…stop." I demanded softly, pushing his arms away from me a ways until I could see his face again in the table's light. Harshly, I fired on, "What are you not telling me? Why…why are you acting like this? Tell me, _everything_…now." I recognized the panicked beg in my voice by this point, and squeezed his hand hard enough to leave the impression of my desperation. He stood above me, not proudly, rather saddened in fact, saying not a single word and only surveying my apparently demolished body. I wondered why he acted as though he wasn't certain, almost as if he were a third party to my health, to me. When his lips parted, I waited for the bad news to flow.

"I don't…I've been right here waiting for you baby, but I don't know everything. Emily and Jake snuck me in a few days ago, and the nurses let me stay..." He didn't smile, but I could feel the warmth of the statement as my eyes grew wide up at him.

"Emily and Jacob are here?"

He nodded as my eyes watered.

"Why did you have to sneak in, Mort?"

"I had to see you, they had me hooked up to all this same shit downstairs…" he appraised the equipment surrounding me with a snarl and then looked back down, his hand brushing the hair back from my forehead. I tried to sniffle back the coming tears and found it nearly impossible with the tube rammed into my nose. "So I escaped when they weren't looking, and ran into the kids. They brought me to you."

"But if they didn't tell you anything…then why, why are you acting like this?"

"Like what? _Worried_ about you? I didn't realize that was bad thing…" His hands pressed into the mattress of the hospital bed at either side of my hips as his body staggered above mine, his breath on my nose.

"You know something."

He eyed me suspiciously, fully out of the realm to understand me.

"What is it?" I stammered again quickly, crying harder and eventually shouting. "What, is it me, am I really dying this time? The baby…did he kill my baby…he did didn't he? Didn't he Mort…?"

"Rox, I--"

"You don't know. Fine!" When I yelled at him that time, I felt immediately guilty, but showed no signs of quitting. Instead, I looked away from him and began trying to rip the needles from my arms. His hands blocked this action from taking any further place, and between my crying and yelling, I felt myself growing dizzy with anger.

"Babe, stop it, they have to stay in. You need to lie down, you're not well enough to--"

"Leave me alone, you don't know anything. You should have just let me die too…why…" I cried deeper as my short lived strength fell and my body let go of his, dropping away and back to the pillows. "Why didn't you just leave me there…with _him_."

I watched him shake his head at me, angered, unhappy, but I didn't pay it enough attention, and just went on. "This is my fault; you're hurt because of me. Because Ethan was mad at me…and he found you…and now, now the baby…you can't love me for letting your baby die…just like…" At that point, I was glad my tears choked me too much to continue, I didn't want to repeat the last part I was thinking. I didn't want to hurt him like that. I couldn't.

He held my hips in his hands as he leaned down to me further, not afraid of my outburst, or words, or the pain I was pushing onto him. Mort's forehead met with mine as he breathed in deep, the warmth of his entire body filling mine up in ways I had only dreamt, a manner I thought I could never have again. For this, I was more grateful than ever before in my life. Our eyes were locked on one another's, less than an inch apart, focused, as he spoke to me.

"Don't ever say that to me, you can't tell me that ever again." I didn't understand him, but lay patiently under his gaze, knowing he had his point to make, as determined as he was. "You're not dying…and I'm not ever going to let you. I can't do it Roxanne; I can't survive without you…not on goddamn _machines_…not in a hospital. I can't." I let the tears fall as fast as they wanted, hearing every syllable clearly, understanding every movement of his weary, heartbroken tone. "You're back now, you're awake. You can hear me can't you? You can feel me…see me…?"

I nodded fiercely against his head, suffocating on sadness.

"He's not coming after you again, Ethan's gone, they're all gone now."

"_You_…you don't know that--"

"Shh…" he hummed back to relax me, to remind me that he had the floor. "…you can't think like that anymore. You are alive, and you're going to stay that way, for me…for you…for…" As he stopped in a gentle place, I almost heard the missing piece in his statement, as if he didn't know how to finish or whether he should. It scared me again, but I met him with the question I most needed answered. I had to know my condition in full.

"It's gone isn't it? The baby…you have to tell me…"

Silence. Not saddened, but strange. Nervous silence. Unanticipated silence. Electro-shocked silence.

"Mort tell me." There were no tears in my eyes when I said this, although I could already feel the new rush formulating, patient for the answer to arrive.

"No." He replied quietly, his breath still rising high above my head as I noticed him glance up to the monitors, aimlessly checking something. "No, you're not having a baby."

First, my heart stopped beating and I swore I heard the monitor fall partially silent. Then, he glanced back down to me, lighter in mood, softer in tone than before as he wiped away the forming tears in the corners of my eyes, and leaned into my ear. "We're not having _a_ baby, Roxanne." Repeating himself, as if I didn't hear the worst news of my existence the first time. I wanted to slap him for pressing the same report for a second disheartened blow. And then a instant later, his lips opened against my cheek as he kissed me peacefully, tucking his nose into my reckless, sleeping curls, a whisper leaving the conclusion on my earlobe to study, think about, wonder, ponder, analyze and smile at.

"We're having _two_ babies…"

This silence was entirely different. This was tranquil silence, harmonic silence, amity silence. The silence that comes at the end of a long war, from the winning side of an open, glossy battlefield. Serenity silence.

Novels, films, music, poetry cannot properly describe or portray the feeling one is graced with at this moment, the one I was honored with, the lifting of my every pain, my every doubt and fury, the wiping away of my fear. In that second of time, the world slowed to a dull tango, the skies, the planets danced to the music of three short_** beeps**_ above my head, it was the second of time where the only man I had ever truly, unconditionally, exceptionally loved, kissed my lips to calm me, to stop the room from spinning, to keep my feet from falling down into the ocean of pleasantry they seemed to be so fond of. This is unexplainable. If I attempted to detail such a moment in my life for any one human mind, I would fail, and hold the guilt of not doing it justice, everlastingly.

My lips were no longer frozen with the time spent sleeping in my personal hell, they were undone, thawed to innumerable existence, relieved of any and all quivering concern, they were hugged by another's. Mort was right when he said that I had to live, for him, for our _children_, for myself; it was everything, it was life. I was granted the greatest of all signs by him, and the more I focused on his eyes, his raw kissing, the more I recognized each individual heartbeat skipping across the monitor above my head, each color representing another life beside my own. A _baby_…another _baby_…and _me_. And there, holding all three together the same as he had done unknowingly for months, was the only thing that refused to let me give in, the man who made taking a breath possible again, the one who gave me two reasons to live for the rest of my long days.

For as long as I wanted them to be.

And then, when my heart told me that it could deal with little more, that it would surely combust under any more emotional stress or function, I felt my needle free hand move away from my hip when Mort held it lightly to his lips, kissing tenderly as I watched. Time was slow moving, silent, pure only in the tiny bubble we seemed to occupy together.

"I distinctly recall offering you the chance to quit your job once before, and letting me take care of you, so that you could keep me company forever." Glancing up through bleary, happiness soaked eyes, I saw his wiry smile of passionate curiosity. I liked this smile the most of all of them, and nodded at his statement.

"You remember?"

"Of course…" I sighed, tightening my fingers in his hold as he shuffled above me.

"Good. 'Cause I'm going to make you a similar offer, but…you're not allowed to give me an answer yet."

"Well, when can I--"

He stopped me quick with a finger to my swollen, tired lips, and smiled down at me for the hundredth time in only minutes. "When you're better. When they don't have you full of pain medication…" I giggled softly against his salty, warm fingertip and held his gaze. He did not waver as his free hand came tumbling out of the pocket of his jeans, his dirty jeans at that, ones from the day he left me to get milk, the day he never came back and I was taken away, those jeans. His hand was clamped around the object as he twisted it through his fingers and eventually, came to place it down over my slender, ice cold ring finger. I expected as much, sort of, but not this way, not here, like this. I looked up at him trying to determine whether he had lost his mind, and instead I only saw honesty, lack of plan, and joy in knowing that one day we would look back on it and realize how perfect a moment it really was. I saw a single flicker of the ring's stone before he covered my hand with his again on my stomach, kissed my forehead, and begged of me to sleep, to get well for him.

As much as I wanted to stay awake and kiss him, talk to him, stay inside of his arms where I had always known it was safe, I could not deny him the simple wish of my health.

I could no longer deny him anything.


	24. Brushfire Fairytale

**Chapter 24: Brushfire Fairytale

* * *

****5 months later…**

_One way U-Haul truck_… **$1,462.00**

_Classified Ad for a "quaint" cabin on Tashmore Lake_…**$254**

_Late night lobster bisque and German chocolate cake cravings_…**$78.50**

_A map by request of a hormonal fiancé_…**$3**

_Feeling two separate sets of feet kick your hand at once_…**priceless

* * *

  
**

There are some things MasterCard can't buy. For this, there's life.

I was getting rid of the past, bit by bit. The cabin was close to empty, half of the furniture thrown out, the other half salvaged for where we were headed. It looked strange, standing in the middle of what used to be my bedroom, my living room, my disastrous hideout, with nothing but the worn wooden floors and stone fireplace to make it a home to anyone. The couple who had bought it were in search of a vacation home. This though was probably the result of Roxanne_ not_ letting me tack on the phrase, _'hauntingly historic' _to the paper's ad.

Can't say I didn't try to appease the truth.

A lot of _my history_ was in the house, whether she chose to let me dwell on it or not. In fact, the record of my bad, or horrific time spent here in my cabin incognito , was what led me to her. So on that note, I saw nothing wrong with the place. Except maybe the still broken shower door of three years, and not to mention the un-patched hole in the wall. The shack had character, no different than me.

I had it better than I deserved actually.

In the last five months, I've been reminded of that detail every single day. After a good two and a half week stay in the beautifully dull Schneider Regional Hospital on St. Thomas, we flew back home to Tashmore. This though, was easier said than done. The second we drove into town, cameras, ungodly news crews, and even some bizarre Hollywood producers were following our every movement. Apparently, when a bestselling horror writer impregnates Rolling Stone Magazine's hottest journalist, is sprung from jail during a murder conviction, crosses the country in an attempt to outrun the mob, and then takes down fifteen some odd wanted criminals on a yacht in the middle of the Caribbean…word gets around, and quick.

_They asked me if I wanted a feature film made about our travels and Roxanne answered for me with a guiltless smirk. _

"_Only if Johnny Depp agrees to play Mort…" _

_Believe it or not, a month later, her condition was met with negotiations. _

And then there was the Klein family mafia. The two of us had been so convinced that they would be waiting for us the minute we got back home, or even worse, be staked out still on the island. Both of us had been wanted by them in some form or another, and the more publicized my killing spree onboard their boat became, the more nervous I got. I just couldn't shake the thought that they were plotting against us somewhere, somehow, the other half of the mob that had survived my undoing. A few times in our first weeks back, I tried to convince Roxanne that it would be smart for us to hide out again, maybe change names, identities, just for the hell of it. To this, she absolutely refused.

"_I'm just getting to know Ben again, you can't change on me."_

"_We'll change together, babe."_

_A roll of her eyes and a flipped page of my new manuscript was her response. _

After another week or so, the fear passed only by my own exhaustion from poking out of the windows at every car that drove up and never answering the caller ID free phone. I learned to ignore all coincidences, all apparent threats of any kind, and simply relish in the mornings I woke up beside the most important person in my life, the afternoons we took walks together along the lakeside, and the evenings when we did things I still couldn't believe were quite safe with expectant mothers. It was also during this time, and still now, that Roxanne began working on her own small opus, a book that with my constant return editing, was quickly becoming my favorite of any I'd ever read. We were in the kitchen doing dishes, the day after Christmas, when she offered her brain rattling idea up.

"_So I was thinking…"_

"_That's dangerous." As if I should have guessed, a moment later, a damp towel hit the ass of my jeans. She smiled though, and went on without a hitch to claim._

"_I was thinking…" her words pressed forcefully, "…that I might like to write a book."_

_At this I remember stopping, dropping a plate back into the soapy water, and turning to her in shock. Good shock of course. _

_She laughed, "Not exactly the reaction I was looking for…but it's a start." _

_Huffing with a strangled smile, I let go of the sponge, and slid against the counter to where she was leaning, belly out. Our babies held barricade between us, as they usually seemed to, and I pressed her into the counter softly more, kissing her lips with utter reverence. Pulling back, I whispered against them, "I'm thinking that's a great plan." _

"_Yeah?"_

"_Definitely."_

"_Good. Thank you."_

"_No." I replied, kissing the tip of her nose, her forehead as my hand caressed her forever growing stomach, "Thank you."_

Now, standing in the attic in front of a stack of boxes, I wonder about the right choice, the one I should be making. Inside of them lie papers, confessions, truth and then some, of who I once was, who I still am in so many, undeniable ways. _Benjamin James Miller…_the boy from Chicago, who tried to live his dream and was banished to hell. Funny to think about it now, funny to imagine having ever been him, or shared his name, his life. The last time I saw him, he was a kid. He had an apartment across from Wrigley Field, paid for with a book advance that turned into an enemy chase. He had a girl, a plan, and a hundred different reasons not to leave, once. _Morton Samuel Rainey _is a man, and everything opposite from his past. He has made choices that have left him alone more often than not. He has committed true crimes in comparison to Ben's. He has never been a whole man, until now that is. Because now, the new Mort has a plan too, just like Benjamin. The new Mort has a moving truck that is bound to head South when the sun rises the next day, he has a fiancé, he has two new lives to determine from here on out. I kind of like the new one. So I think I'll leave Ben here.

After all, what do I know about being a kid again?

Tapping my boots one last time in front of the boxes, I'm interrupted from thought by the sweetest sound I believe I have ever known, the voice that has saved my soul.

"Mort? You up there?"

Turning back toward the open hatch and ladder, I smile, and look down at her. "Hey, just checking the attic one more time."

"Find anything else?" My head flips back to the boxes, noting the fading sharpie **BJM** **1996** on the side, and when I am assured that it is the right answer to my minds questioning, I reply with a foot to the top step of the ladder.

"No. Nothing we need."

At the bottom of the steps, she's waiting with a strange smile on her face, a hand against her stomach, and a beer in the other. I glance at her in disapproval, and then stand corrected as she hands it off to me.

"As if I would be standing with a bottle of beer in plain view for you."

I laugh and take a sip before kissing her on top of the head, twisting my fingers into hers and pulling her along through the now empty bedroom, out and past the almost cleared loft, and then one step at a time as she hobbles behind me to the living room again. There is a couch we won't move, a few remaining shelves, and of course, the mirror, which will stay as well. Roxanne pats my lower stomach with a grin of sorrow as I finish another sip of the beer.

"What's wrong?"

"Aren't you going to miss it? You've lived here forever…"

"Nah," I justify, rubbing her back and glancing around the open space again. "There's nothing special in here anymore."

"_Nothing?_" Her emphasis has me intrigued, and with one raised eyebrow, I beg her to continue in her meaning. "Don't you remember the first night I fell asleep on your couch…?"

I nod with a wicked grin as she ran her hand over the back of the worn leather.

"With _you_." She concluded seductively.

I laugh, cherishing the obvious desperation in her eyes. "Another ten weeks is going to kill you, isn't it?"

"Don't tease me…just 'cause you can run off and have sex with any wo--"

"I beg you not to finish that statement." I cut her off, shaking my head with a smile.

"Fine." Walking toward me, I watch the glow in her eyes liberate itself into what looks like exhaustion, the same as my own. A brush of my hands' back to her cheek encourages the rest we both need, and after tossing the bottle into the trash, I lead her towards the door of the cabin for the last time. I grab the keys off the hook, as well as a leash, and duck my head back toward the kitchen.

"Riley!"

With a still staggering limp, much the same as mine had been, I see his head poke out from around the corner, his tongue wagging, his eyes brightened as they always were. Before Roxanne Hayden, I only kept this dog in my shadow to keep from being completely lonely. And now, after all he has endured with us, after learning that Bruce Klein's autopsy concluded two separate canine teeth marks in his thigh, I have nothing but respect for Riley. Since the moment he came hobbling back into our lives, hiding out in the palm trees on Cinnamon Bay, he's been nothing but a fourth lasting miracle to me, proof that even the demons themselves can't keep us down.

So we'll move on to a new place, retain parts of the old, the Hayden estate for example, our Caribbean bungalow, a certain christened apartment in the city, and we'll be happy. There's nothing about the past that is set in place to frighten me much anymore. There's nothing haunting me, or those I love, or who I've become. I've got a new home, a new soon-to-be wife, _children_, not child, on the way to protect, to teach, to be _cool_ for. And I'm thinking that when they get here, everything will finally settle itself. I feel like that's the missing piece, the one I spent too many years trying to find in all of the wrong puzzle boxes, all the wrong cities, and books, and corners of life. If my life were a novel thus far, no normal reader would understand it's depth, its revolution, the love in it, and oddly enough, I wouldn't have it any other way.

_Funny too_…I haven't heard the voices in a while now.


	25. This Will Be

**Chapter 25: This Will Be**

18 months later

Hayesville, North Carolina

* * *

_**"A Fairytale the Fair Way"**_

_February 10, 2008_

_Monotony is simply impossible in what appears to be the first of many bestsellers by new comer and aptly matched author, Roxanne Rainey. __**Hide and Seek Out**__, a sort of autobiography turned fictional menace, follows the central plot and opposing, feminine view of her recent husband Morton Rainey's more knowingly graphic novel, __**To Die Nameless. **__The charming missus and Rolling Stone Hall of Famer, takes an irrevocably dangerous approach to her tale's weaving, allowing its wave of continuing fans to fall as helpless to the somewhat anti-hero, as her proverbial damsel does. In this too, she brings out the innocence, the truest ardor for necessary regret, as perfectly paired criminals Alex and Luke find themselves fighting the past to salvage their future together. _

_One might surely question the Rainey duo's own conviction in writing simultaneous books, based on the whirlwind of media circling their own run-ins with the American institution of mafia, but it is nothing to concern the books' publications with. It may just intrigue readers further into the plot. This interest will also surely mix with the growing hope in the production of the film adaptation later this year, starring Johnny Depp, Natalie Portman and Robert Deniro. _

_The Rainey's live and write comfortably from their mountain hideaway in North Carolina, with their 17 month old twins Max and Madeline. _

_**Hide and Seek Out**__; __**To Die Nameless**__, $18.95 ea. Brown Publishers_

_Rolling Stone Magazine_

_Article written by: Casey Smith and Eric Lennox

* * *

__**February 26**__**th**__** - 9:45 AM**_

"Those two always have had a way with words…strange to see them so _clean _though." I giggle softly to myself and toss the magazine aside to the open end of the rumbled mattress. "_The charming missus'_…" This repeated phrase lingers on my tongue as I feel Mort's arm weave around my waist from, as my naked back is settled against his chest. He holds me there for what feels like a lifetime or more, kissing the tilted crook of my neck where my hair is shorter now. I relish in this feeling greedily for added time.

"We don't have to get up, right?" My whispered question is hopeful.

His answer is fair. "We don't have to do anything."

"Okay, good." My arm twists around his, stroking at the tired, wispy arm hairs and grinning into the bare curve of his shoulder where it holds my head. We stay that way for another long silence of minutes wasting away, listening to one another's breathing, watching the small snowflakes catch onto the railing of our bedroom's porch, and scatter down over the distant mountains.

In this passing moment, I feel a part of him flinch and grow firmer beneath the sheets as he holds me tighter, his murmuring in my ear. "I am so proud of you, Mrs. Rainey…"

I smile at this, quickly becoming undone in places only he's capable of unwinding, and croon back to him with a slant of my face upward, "You mean, _missus Rainey?_" I force a southern drawl that makes him laugh and respond.

"Yeah, that's what I said. _Missus…" _His accent, practiced in ways only I know of, is much better than mine, and he takes the advantage to twist my giggling form around in his arms until my body is spread long and nude beneath his. With a continuing appeal of his Shooter twang, he falls down from above me to meet my lips, "Whad'ya think darlin'…should we rattle an' crack us a few more floorboards this mornin'?"

Before I can answer, his tongue roughly penetrates my lips, forcing its way into the warmth of my mouth. In this, my hands quickly tug at his tousled hair, which has grown messier and slightly darker in the sunless winter months, but still feels the same as the first time. I arch my back into his hold, letting his mouth engulf mine with reverence, wet, passionate strokes of his tongue against mine, one second at a time. From between my legs, is the sensation of warm, long, desperate flesh, settling at the inner bank of my thigh, waiting to do its appropriate damage. I laugh between his lips, for whatever reason, I always have in these circumstances.

"Yes I know…my cock never ceases to be hilarious."

Again, I laugh, but this time nip at his lower lip in tasteless revenge. He grins down at me, that awkwardly perfect, lopsided grin of his, the one that found me a sucker in the rain one cold August night on Tashmore Lake, the one that found me too tempted to work, or think, or move from whatever mattress we were on, the one that found me pregnant and running. _That_ grin.

"I can say this for it…" I stare up at him wildly, releasing one hand from his hair to trail along his shoulder, down his arm, and eventually under the blanket until it grasps securely around the twitching shaft. "…it's a master at _stand up_." The second I attempt moving my lips away from his, he nearly bites down to take control of my cruel mouth. Quickly, he flips my body again, separating my tingling back from the sheets until my legs are locked around his waist, sitting atop of his lap and looking down on him instead. He's punishing himself for not having the last word this time, giving me full control of the situation, the way he often times likes it. More than he would ever admit.

His long, still hardening cock sits against my soaked opening, begging to be drawn in with every sigh he makes, with every squeeze of his hands on my thighs as he glances upward, the grin wicked now. I say nothing to this, and instead hold the tip of him to the breach of my body, breathing deep with a smile before pressing against it hard, as hard as I realize he wants, he needs. The second my legs tighten at his hips, I feel his body buck roughly into mine, taking the control back. I gasp, only to fall against his chest in unexpected but warranted ecstasy, my peaked nipples quivering on his boiling skin. At this, he takes his turn to laugh now.

A moment later while I catch my breath, his hand is at my cheek, cupping it softly as he draws my lips down to his, easing inside of me deeper with fluttering, shaky kisses on my mouth. "Best feeling in the world…" he sighs against my cheek, holding my waist as I slowly slip back on the thick intrusion, finding the strength to lean down harder and into it, driving my hips along with his. My hands press into his chest, helping to elevate the room, the view, the tension and pleasure while my back curves into an arch designed by his pulsing within me. I can't tell if the bed is moving or not, although there is scraping noise. I can't tell if he's smiling or not, although his breathing is hitched in the tone I prefer, restless, with lack of concern for anything.

There is a second in passing that relieves the oxygen missing from our lungs, and in which I can gain control of my senses again, before being pummeled softly and tortured in the sweetest of movements, the most pleasing of spots. Mort knows this spot better than anyone, and manages to strike it over and over, as I rely on his clenched teeth and twisted, smiling brow below me, to know that the sensation is relevant to his own bliss as well. At this, I move faster atop him, leaning down into his shoulder blades harshly, my hair falling in my eyes, legs growing limp around him, and back shuddering with the muscles being knotted for the satisfaction of the drive.

"Roxanne…" he groans, while holding onto my waist with desperate hands, winding fingers. "God…"

"_Don't_…" I try, but find myself moaning at the intense wave covering my skin. "…don't bring him into this…" I conclude with a glaring grin down at him as our foreheads mesh with the final lap of the excursion, both knowing each other's breaking points better than our own.

He chuckles against the pleasure, the pain, the need to give in to something, the only thing left that can weaken him, and replies with an aching yelp.

The situation at hand draws on, growing more heated with every slide of our skin together, every inch of penetration he forces. Another minute or so passes before he starts to beg, "Now…babe, _now_…come for me…" He doesn't shout it, but the rattling of his words inside of my head are killer, and set into motion a final thrust and ache, as I feel the sensation of him all around me, all inside of me, everywhere I can't see, but can sense. I try not to scream, but find this impossible as usual, and call out his name, reminding him of what he's managed to do, _again_. Relaxing deep within me, I wait for his final move, the one he knows will give me what I want, and as his hips jump into mine, everything goes white with sparks plastering my eyes.

Falling against his chest again, I keep my legs wrapped firmly around his waist, and draw my arms about his neck as he sits up with our bodies still attached to one another, sensitively. His hands are soft, dancing down my spine as he holds my face back and kisses me deep, true. After all this time, the flavor remains, the dusty cinnamon spice from lips to neck, back to stomach, legs to…everywhere else. It soothes me, knowing he hasn't changed, being reminded of who he is, who he'll always be. His tongue slides back and away from my mouth, flicking lightly at my lower lip for a second more, and then he kisses my nose as we both turn our heads to meet the static of a distant cry. The monitor on the bedside table entertains us for a moment, as he holds me tighter, letting the relaxation, the high subside with more kisses, more sighs and touches.

The soft _da da's _fill the room with the anxious yelping, and I trace along the freckles of his shoulder with a laugh, "I think your children are looking for you, Mr. Rainey…"

"Say that again for me." He grins, brushing the hair out of my eyes.

Quietly, with gentle kisses on his neck, I repeat. "Your_ kids_ are looking for you, sweetie."

The look on his face is one of eternal endearment, an expression that I believe he never thought he would have the chance to use in his life, my new favorite. He doesn't have to say anything for me to understand the look in his eyes.

We soon separate from one another to get dressed, but meet in the middle of the bed for as many last minute kisses as possible, still being beckoned by the sobbing . This is our life now, sex followed by infant cries, and all else that it implies. There's nothing to be ashamed of in it, I wouldn't have it any other way. And as we wander through the cold halls of our Appalachian castle in the sky, hand in hand, toes cracking with each step down to the nursery, the one I never imagined having full of life, I realize that no one has it like me, no one has this kind of love.

He said his name was Mort Rainey, and I felt the universe rattle beneath me.

* * *

_**4:45 PM**_

Speckles of movement fill in the shortage of ice in the corners of the window before me, darting hops and skips a dozen or more yards away and down from this room. Any lower and my gaze is focused on a half filled and typed laptop screen, any further to the left and the Cubs are beating the Mets 3 to 1, and any further to the right and I'm alone in the world. So I keep watching the imagery through the glass, one taller, slender form, and two stumbling smaller ones. Roxanne said she was taking Max and Maddie out to play in the snow, and my eyes haven't left the view since.

Those are my children, tripping over fallen leaves and twigs, rolling in the icy ground like tiny savages, laughing and screaming and playing like the world could never end. Those are my doing, selfishly, gladly, and they've changed every bit of me from day one.

My index fingers glide between the _F _and_ J_ keys, attempting to spill something of worth onto the page, trying to make another large check to live comfortably and privately on. Nothing is coming from my mind, not because I'm uninspired, but because I fear I've been overly inspired and exposed to beauty, intelligence, and great plot. Living in the backwoods of North Carolina, without a care in my system or struggle in my heart, with the most glorious of views year round, day round, has led me into a state of manic happiness rather than depression. I simply can't stop smiling. And considering that two years ago a smile was something that came every few weeks, randomly, and at extreme moments of intense bliss, I dare say I'm doing pretty good for myself now. I've finally grown up.

As my eyes waver back down and through the window, I see the grinning faces of my wife and daughter, both of them waving from the ground three floors below and up towards me, yelling. _"See…there's daddy up there! Say hi…"_

Madeline Grace waves back at me and I melt into the chair at my desk.

And then there's Maxwell, up to no good as usual, sputtering around in the far corner of the fenced part of our acreage, nearer to the frozen creek. With a stick far to0 large for his size, he's swatting at something close to the ground, more or less killing it in his effort. I laugh, knowing the sight all too well as something of my own childhood, the defiance, the power of being larger than a beetle or ant.

"That a boy, Max. Get him." I chuckle under my breath and slide into the chair for comfort. My hands flutter over the keys again, hoping for a fresher start to the day's need for writing, for Chapter 16 of the latest work. Eventually, when the sun is fading off in a cascade down the white mountains, and when the sound of wet boots on the hardwood floor approaches my senses, I find the stream of participation with both mind and imagination, and I write.

Hours pass, days from the feeling of being so involved in paragraph after paragraph, statement after long, hauled, detailed statement. I'm making the progress and headway I'd been hoping on for weeks at least, the one my publisher had called about just that same morning, the one I knew Roxy was silently cheering for somewhere at a distance always. As my soiled and tortured fingertips met the plastic silver of the keys, one after the other, I heard the faint laughter of entertained children, I could smell the wafting fragrance of homemade pasta and sauce, and I could feel every bit of my house enclosing itself over me, hugging me in a strange way, welcoming me to it officially.

"_Fork…Max use the fork. No, Maddie not in your hair!" _

A stiff grin implants itself as the splendid chaos below continues the noises and sentiment, the memories being made with me as curator and historian of such. I want so badly to shut the computer and stumble downstairs to where they are, share in the painting of highchairs and wall with spaghetti, kiss the most beautiful pair of lips to have ever walked the surface of the planet. But I know this won't be allowed, this isn't allowed today, I am expected to be working until the chapter is done…

And believe me, I'm pushing it.

Syllables drain themselves from my pores, poetry for someone else to read, while I listen in on the poetry of my surrounding universe. Minutes continue to drift by like dead leaves in fall or fish in the summer streams, and the kitchen empties itself of sound only to send it along in a trample and tumble up the second floor steps to the bathroom. Water runs through the pipes to my right as I strike down in a rush of energy to the space bar, the enter key, over and over with each new summarization of what's in my mind. Splashing and falling soap bars inspires a rampage of words to flow. Her voice, _"Where is it? Where's the duck?" _and again in giggling harmony, _"Oh! There he is…" _catches my mind in a finely tapered net and holds it hostage for all its worth, while it treads on spilling what it can, what it will.

A few more rounds with washcloths and sponges, dirty toes and light scrubbing behind ears, all of it in my mind's direct eye of thought, and a silence eventually casts itself over the entire house. My fingers stop moving with the rhythm of setting and characterization, the kids stop screaming and wining, and the water settles easily into the cool air of house. There is nothing but the howl of a short breeze outside the frosted windows, the squeak of my chairs leg as it strikes a splinter beneath the rug, and a grumble of the pipes as they prepare to take back the now sullied bathwater. No one says a word as this takes place; there is only a house and four inhabitants all at a temporary peace of mind.

And then this is broken beautifully.

"_Mine! Momma…mine…" _A screech. One so magnanimous it could kill an elephant and settle the score of a war in a second flat. A little girl, anxious to get out of a cold tub and away from a brother who's stolen her pink towel again. It's forever the same as of late, routine argument, and routine result.

"_Max, wait a minute. Hold on…"_ She doesn't call for my help at all, and rather chooses to suffer the demons of bath time tonight alone, independently. She wants me to keep working; she wants to hear keys rattling and thoughts being put into work. Roxanne still knows me better than I know myself most times.

I turn back around to the keyboard the moment I hear laughter again, a rush of sink water and teeth scrubbing, bare and damp feet trotting across creaking wooden planks to a distant room, more laughter, begging, distress over pajamas and stories, all of which is settled with a vocabulary of no more than 30 words. Most of all this fascinates me as I write, with larger, developed, matured language. I listen to my son and daughter battle with screeching and grunting, _"Now's", "No's", _and stuttering head shakes that I can hear through only thought. Everything begins to relax in tempo now, everything quiets itself into the quilted blankets of two cribs, nestled nearby one another and under the satiny glow of a mother's reciting of a story they already know. Everything is fair this way, and I accept it by finishing off a final sentence, to a lasting paragraph, at the end of my chapter for the day.

The clock beside me reads 7:28 now. Time has leapt into formation without my knowledge, moved on and away from the afternoon and into an early night. I find myself reaching and stretching my arms behind my head and neck, leaning into the antique chair with a tender squeak, and watching the snow fall blankly onto the glass window before me still. The fireplace in the back corner of the loft study crackles a few times, heats the space perfectly and is only now remembered in the scheme of all other energy sources in the house. The house breathes when I do, when my children do nearby, when I hear the solemn, delicate breath of a woman just behind me only minutes later.

"I hope you finished your homework, Mr. Rainey."

A smile covers my face instantly, a sigh and sleepy shut of my eyes as I tilt my head back with my glasses for increased vision. Not that glasses do Roxanne any more justice than what she's already capable of with a blind man, but the thought always occurs to me anyway. She grins down at me with a plate of re-heated spaghetti teetering on her hands near my nose.

"No dinner until you've finished the chapter."

"Good news for me then."

"Yeah? You're done?"

"Done." I whisper and take the plate from her to sit it on the desk, ignoring it completely.

Her eyes become wily in an instant as she steps around closer to the space between me and the computer. "Everyone's asleep."

"Is that right…?"

"Yep. Just us."

"Hmmm…" the hum deepens in my throat until it becomes an anxious growl, and I pull her by the front pockets of her form fitting Levi's until she lands against the desk between my knees, gripping tight to keep her there. "Are you going to give me a bath and read me a bedtime story too…?"

Laughing, she brushes back the fallen strands of golden and brown hair from my eyes, traces along my cheek as if she's remembering it for her dreams, and settles her body further into my lap as her legs come to wrap around my waist in the chair. "I think I could do that…if you're a good boy." Her fingers tap on my lips a few times before she brings her mouth down to cover mine, the blended zest of tomato sauce and peppermint tea, which is surprisingly more tempting. A domesticated aphrodisiac. I love her like this the most, with a few existing soap stains on her forehead, her hair a tumbling mess of curls to her shoulders, jeans and a cashmere sweater, a style only the sexiest of mothers can attempt to bother with, and she dominates like no other. My tongue meets hers before I expect it, and at this my arms grow firmer around her until I am rest assured of what will happen, what has to happen, what has always happened on this desk after bedtime.

I loved her since I knew her. She was mine before I knew it. She's mine still.

With or without putting on the red light for me to come in.

* * *

**THE END. **:)


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